Balance
by x-Energy.Purple-x
Summary: Jim hates Spock. Spock doesn't particularly like Jim either, but what happens when one argument changes everything? What happens when the boundaries between love and hate become blurred? Kirk/Spock! Explicit slash/smut! Multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I had a prompt to write some good old fashioned Kirk/Spock smut, and it kind of ended up taking on a life of its own; this is basically the end product, angry hate sex set just after that choking incident on the bridge! This is my first time ever writing K/S smut, so fingers crossed that this is okay and that you all enjoy it!**

**I want to say thank you for all the amazing support I've received from you lovely people out there since I started writing ST fic! As always, if there's anything you want to say - good or bad - then reviews are always appreciated :)**

**As always, I don't own anybody here :(**

**Enjoy! :)**

To say that Jim was pissed was an understatement.

Every yeoman and bridge officer within a fucking thousand miles knew that Jim was pissed. As he stormed down the winding corridors towards the main officers' quarters, his eyes burning with anger and his teeth gritted with so much force that they were practically bending, everyone scattered.

Jim wasn't normally a violent man – he really was more of a lover than a fighter in every sense of the word, even if his wild days at the Academy said otherwise sometimes – but in that moment, he couldn't stop the red mist that was clouding his mind as he marched closer to his destination.

The bruises around his throat made it hard to breathe, the skin on fire from the strength of the sense memory of Spock's fingers wrapped tight around it, but that only spurred him on further. He knew that he deserved what Spock had done to him on the bridge; it was a low-blow, sure, but it was a necessary one. After all, he had to get Spock out of that chair, and really, with him parading around that mask of Vulcan superiority and smugness all the time, he didn't leave Jim with any other reasonable option.

No, what pissed him off was just how much Spock had humiliated him, had practically snapped his neck in front of the crew he was supposed to be setting an example to. What pissed him off was the slight smirk he saw on Spock's lips when he was gasping for breath, before the barriers had slammed back down and that wave of human emotion – of human hatred and despise – had disappeared from view once more.

Hell, Spock had always managed to fucking piss him off, since all the way back in the Academy and that stupid Kobayashi Maru test when he refused to concede that he had managed to outsmart him, since he'd had the nerve to throw his father's name back at him with such coolness and arrogance that Jim had had to resist the urge to cross the court and beat those stupid pointy ears off his stupid Vulcan head.

Greatest command team in Starfleet his ass, he snorted; obviously the Elder Spock hadn't counted on the younger Spock being such an irritating bastard.

Okay, he reasoned rationally for a second, he didn't really have much of an excuse to be so pissed off with Spock, but that didn't really stop him. Being stuck in space for weeks, in such close contact with a wide variety of people – fine, mainly Spock – meant that he was getting antsy, and there was no better cure for that then to beat the shit out of something until he felt normal again.

Spock just happened to piss him off.

When Jim rounded the corner, coming face to face with the door to Spock's quarters, Jim didn't even bother trying to be courteous and let Spock know that he was there; after all, if Spock had given him no warning to the fact he was going to throttle him across the control panel, then Jim certainly wasn't going to give him any warning back.

Within a few feet of the door, Jim growled out "Computer, engage Captain's Override Alpha Four." He couldn't help the slight smirk of satisfaction that crossed his face when he was able to address himself as captain, nor when the door to Spock's quarters slid open without any complaint.

_He _was the captain now, not Spock, and that meant he could discipline _his _crew any which way he saw fit; not even stupidly irritating Vulcan logic could argue with that regulation. Storming into the room, Jim's eyes immediately locked on Spock's position.

Spock didn't even have the gall to lookup from the desk and the papers he'd been perusing, but the way his hand clenched tightly into a fist around his PADD stylus, the muscles in his back tensing, and the heated inflection on his normally even tone told Jim that Spock was apparently wound up just as tight as he was.

"I do not believe you have any right to enter my personal quarters without warning me, _acting C_aptain." As Spock almost snarled out those words, he finally lifted his eyes from the desk to glare straight at Jim, and the tension in the air became suffocating.

For some odd reason, one that Jim knew he'd probably be unable to discern once this was all over, the presence of an obviously pissed off Vulcan – a Vulcan 3 times stronger than him who had no trouble wrapping his hands round his throat – didn't make Jim rethink his strategies; if anything, it only made him more angry than before.

"You absolute motherfucker, what the hell was that all about, huh? Are you really that fucking desperate to be the perfect little Vulcan that you had to try and take me out?" Jim's voice only got louder with every word, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Bones could hear him all the down in Sickbay, getting a Bio-bed all ready for at least one of them.

Spock's eyes turned icy, the loud snap of the stylus breaking clean in two in his curled hand almost echoing around the ship. "I only reacted within my parameters to a clearly unstable and violent threat that was presenting itself. Now, I will be forced to warn you that if you do not remove yourself from my quarters, I will not be held accountable for my actions."

Jim scoffed, laughing out loud as he closed in on Spock, his hands tightening sporadically by his side. "_You _will not be held accountable for your actions? I don't give a shit about what you and aren't accountable for, _Commander_. You think that a couple of fancy words and I'll be leaving with my balls quaking in fear? You've got it all wrong, I'm no longer some fucking cadet for you to push around and jump through hoops, you can't threaten me with shit. I'm your fucking _Captain_, I'm in charge, and so help me God, I could have you demoted so fucking fast that not even your worthless _logic _will be able to tell you what the fuck hit you!"

By this point, Jim was leaning over the table, his hands lying flat either side of Spock's arms and his face mere inches from Spock's, gazing down on him with such vitriol and authority that anyone else would've been begging for forgiveness.

But Spock wasn't anybody else.

"You seem to be forgetting your place, acting Captain, and although I am unwilling to provide you with repetition of my warning from 2.4639 minutes ago, I am forced to say that for you to argue my demotion based on some human… some _human _impulse of emotion is one that the Admir-"

Spock hadn't even finished his sentence before all of Jim's rational thoughts fled and he snapped. Fisting his hands into Spock's science shirt, Jim pulled him from the chair and backed him into the wall, never once letting go or surrendering his position of control.

It took mere seconds for Spock to regain his equilibrium, and when Jim released his grip with one hand, balling it into the fist and pulling back ready to connect, Spock immediately let out a completely unVulcan roar of anger, blocking the punch midway before throwing one of his own, catching Jim flush on the chin and causing him to stumble back a few steps into the centre of the room.

Jim could barely see anything now but the thick red mist that had descended on him and the sight of Spock advancing on him, and he couldn't stop himself from charging into the Vulcan, desperately trying to regain the upper hand.

The sound of crashing PADD's hitting the floor; flesh hitting flesh; the floors shaking beneath them with the violent ferocity of each and every strike became the most piqued of soundtracks to the grunts, groans and moans that filled the air as they both battled for dominance. Blood, both red and green, decorated their hands, flowing freely from split lips, split eyebrows and broken noses – well, Jim's nose at least – as they both let loose the deluge of rage and blistering hatred that had been building up in the two of them for weeks, finally reaching its fever pitch.

It wasn't until Jim was unceremoniously thrown to the ground, pinned on his back with an enraged Vulcan glaring back down at him that Jim began to very slowly realise through the haze of pain and blurriness that this might not have been his best idea.

Sure, he felt a hell of a lot better than he had for weeks, months even, but the bitter hatred for Spock had barely diminished, and the fact that he was now in a very compromised position with Spock straddling him meant that Jim was probably going to come away from this with much worse than a bruised throat.

He distantly hoped that someone would pick this as the perfect moment to knock on the door, or to comm one of them, just so that he'd still make it to Alpha shift in the morning. However, as Spock's hands tightened viciously around the wrists pinned hard above his head, Spock leaning forward over Jim so that his forehead was resting against Jim's, the rage that had permeated the air was undercut with something else.

It wasn't until Spock ground down against him and Jim found himself involuntarily letting out a breathy moan that Jim realised what that something else was. Spock was hard. More importantly, and to his own surprise, _he _was hard too.

Spock noticed this, and was now grinding his hips down insistently into Jim's, seeming to take vicious pleasure in the way that Jim could barely restrain the moans now clawing at his throat, Jim's rage only boiling over further as he tried to fight back against the position that Spock had him in.

He couldn't really give a shit if this ended up happening, but he'd be damned if he would let Spock beat him and fuck him too; Spock, however, only pinned Jim down harder against the floor as he struggled, his eyes blazing with fury and arousal that was completely at odds with the Vulcan mask of aloofness and emotionlessness he'd perfected for months as Jim spat in his face. D

espite the burgeoning anger that was only intensifying with every second that passed, it was getting harder and harder to hold back the lust and carnal hunger that the physical fight had brought out in both of them, their thrusts against each other only becoming more blatant and fierce as Spock closed the gap between them, his mouth crashing down against Jim's.

It wasn't a soft or tender kiss; this was a kiss full of hatred, full of dominance as teeth clashed against each others, as tongues forcibly entered mouths and as lips became swollen and bloody with the sheer brutality and force they were fighting each other with. It was one that both tasted bitter, yet still only mollified the anger between them until it played in almost pleasurable harmony with the fire burning in their blood.

The naked contact between their lips brought down all the shields around their minds, and as one of Spock's hands tore negligently at Jim's shirt, throwing the strips of fabric across the room as he firmly caressed and scratched at the toned, muscled flesh, Jim could feel the flood of Spock's own emotions attacking him.

Anger, hatred, disgust, irritation, the primitive urges to tear him apart yet to feel every inch of Jim's body as his own, and Spock's own throbbing arousal, Jim felt it all, yet, it didn't make him want to pull away; Spock's own rage, the emotions he never let slip through onto his face, only fed Jim's own more and more, until the thirst to feel everything that Spock did – to realise that Spock hated yet wanted him as much as Jim himself wanted Spock – became insatiable.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jim was able to rip his wrists from the only hand now restraining him, but instead of pushing Spock away or trying to take dominance for himself, Jim found himself frantically trying to get his pants and boxers off, his hands tripping over Spock's in his desperation.

Spock, seeing that Jim apparently wasn't going to challenge him physically for at least a few seconds, leaned back slightly to pull his own uniform off, the pants and blood-stained Science Blues joining Jim's before he started biting down hard on Jim's throat, digging his teeth into the bruises already painted on Jim's skin from the choking on the bridge and the fighting that had been going on mere minutes beforehand.

Jim growled, his anger briefly overpowering his lust as he felt Spock's smug and almost vicious amusement at the fresh marks of ownership being left on him, but when Spock shifted down his body slightly, his leanly muscled abdomen rubbing hard against Jim's weeping erection as Spock used his knees to spread Jim's thighs open, Jim merely allowed the bitter annoyance and hatred to transfer mentally instead.

_"I hope you fucking freeze to death on some fucking God forsaken planet somewhere, because the second you're not expecting it, I'm fucking leaving you on Delta Vega to rot, asshole!"_

Spock only growled, and Jim's eyes almost shot open in shock when he felt Spock's erection twitch and harden further at his threat; the stupid fucker was getting off on this more than Jim thought, and for some odd reason, that only made Jim's heart thump harder in his chest as his arousal swelled further.

_"You forget your place, __**Jim**__,"_ Spock hissed mentally, his voice thrumming with power and desire as he positioned the head of his erection against Jim's entrance. _"You do not have any power over me, and you never shall. I will never be subservient or acquiescent of your command, for I will never surrender my authority to the likes of you, James Kirk."_

At his final words, Spock snapped his hips forward, pushing past the ring of tight muscle at Jim's entrance as he drove his erection into Jim, the double ridges beneath the head making the journey even more painfully pleasurable as they both let out simultaneous moans, their breaths coming in short, shallow pants as they tried to reign in the lust that was threatening to explode.

The pain of Spock's entrance had been intense, brutal and blinding, but Jim found that as Spock slowly began to pull out before thrusting back in just as recklessly, the discomfort became married to the anger and lust swirling through his body until all Jim could feel was ecstasy pulsing through him.

Spock's thrusts were only getting deeper and stronger with each and every moment that passed, Spock's control well and truly abandoning him as he gave himself over to the primal urges coursing through him, and when Jim curled his legs tighter around his waist, digging the heels of his feet sharply into the small of Spock's back, Spock couldn't stop himself from giving out an almost guttural moan.

He knew from his teachings of the Pre-Surak way, of the primitive drives and emotions that drove his Vulcan ancestors, that surrendering to the pleasures of the flesh over the mind usually only ended in war and bloodshed, but as he continued to thrust into the tight, perfect heat surrounding him, continued to listen to how Jim grew more and more responsive and desperate for release beneath him, Spock couldn't believe that something seen as so wrong could feel so good; it felt as essential to him as the air he was breathing, both the physical pleasure of revelling in Jim's body and the mental craving for the dominance and control he was exerting over his superior officer, and he was loath to stop for anything.

Sweat trickled down toned flesh, their muscles aching as their movements became more rough and violent, but the anger-tinged pleasure overrode all physical discomfort as their climaxes begin to pool in the pits of their stomachs. Jim's eyes were half-slit, the pupils dilated with both lust and rage, and as his mouth open and closed in silent moans, Spock felt his carnal hunger spike.

Not caring to weigh up the potential ramifications of his actions, Spock wrapped one hand around Jim's erection, stroking it in time with his savage thrusts, as the fingers of his other hand flew up to hover over the meld points on Jim's face.

Jim let his eyes slip close as he surrendered to the dual stimulation Spock was giving him, and moaning out his assent as he let his desire to take over, Jim's hand covered Spock's, pressing Spock's fingers tight to his meld points as the connection between their minds was ripped open, drowning them both under the sheer maelstrom of emotions flying between them.

Lust, desire, release, anger, hatred, dominance, submission, humiliation, hunger, all of it touching and being touched as the heat drenching their minds reached fever pitch and their climaxes hit uncontrollably, both of them moaning in relief and purged ecstasy as they ejaculated.

As the throngs of blinding pleasure slowly began to ebb away, Jim found himself pinned beneath the dead weight of Spock's body, and the blistering anger and hatred that had died away in the throes of passion came flying back full force.

Gathering together all of his strength, Jim roughly pushed Spock off of him, reaching over to grab his torn Command shirt and wipe the semen from his chest and stomach, before flinging it distastefully at Spock, who laid there staring at Jim, his confusion and anger being pushed forcefully back behind that Vulcan mask that was firmly fixed back in position.

Giving a slight groan of discomfort as his muscles protested the sudden movement, Jim wearily pushed himself up to his feet, taking a few deep breaths in order to slow down the disorientation that was threatening to split his skull. He could still feel the residual traces of Spock in his mind and in his body, but he found the brief flare of anger that flitted through him didn't seem to come anywhere close to the sudden confusion and disbelief that he could feel roiling in his gut.

Stalking over to the bed, he grabbed his pants and underwear, pulling them on roughly before grabbing Spock's black undershirt and yanking that on as well. He tried to keep the irritation out of his actions; he didn't need Spock to know that far from making Jim feel better, the whole sordid confrontation had only made things more complicated.

As the adrenaline faded from his body, Jim could feel the individual aches and pains of every punch, every strike, every bite and every thrust that Spock had unleashed upon him, and as he limped across the room, he glared down at Spock.

Spock was still lying there completely naked, his own hatred and disgust for Jim still visible within his eyes as he stared at the blank ceiling above him, and it was only when Jim nudged his head with his foot that Spock finally acknowledged him; the anger from before was still there, still just as bright, but there was something else in Spock's eyes, some kind of unVulcan like disbelief and shock, and Jim couldn't help the triumphant smirk that crossed his face.

"Now, what was that about you _never _being beneath me, huh _Spock_?" Spock went to open his mouth, but after a couple of seconds of silence, he shut it again. Spock was completely speechless. "I expect to see you refreshed and ready for Alpha shift _Commander_, _Captain's _orders," Jim drawled, calling out the command code to the computer and keeping his eyes fixed on Spock's as the door slid open.

There was refusal, challenge and fight reflected back at him, a clear sign that Spock wasn't going to let Jim have the last word on this, and it wasn't until Jim stepped out into the corridor, leaving Spock on the floor of his quarters, that Jim letting the full extent of his confusion and annoyance cross his face.

"Stupid fucking pointy eared bastard."

Giving a sigh, he turned and made his way towards the Turbo Lift, deciding to head towards Sickbay. He seriously needed a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, after the absolutely amazing feedback I recieved on the first chapter, I decided that I would take a risk and turn this into a full-on chaptered fic that basically tracks K/S from angry hate sex right through to becoming T'hy'la! I apologise for the distinct lack of sex in this part, but I can guarantee you that the next chapter I have planned will more than make up for it ;)**

**Once again, an absolutely huge thank you to everybody who's reviewed/read/favourited this fic! I love you all! If you feel like leaving comments, they'll be more than appreciated! Reviews are love after all :D**

**As always, I don't own anybody :(**

**Hope you all enjoy! :)**

* * *

The slow walk through the ship to Sickbay had given Jim more than enough time to think through what had happened.

To say that he was confused would be an understatement; to say that he was still pissed off, even more so. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting when he'd stormed into Spock's quarters, but to get the shit beat out of him by an equally enraged Vulcan certainly wasn't on his list.

Okay, so hindsight, he now knew that trying to get into a physical fight with his 3 times stronger than himself Vulcan First Officer was a definite miss, but that didn't make the fact that he'd just had his ass handed to him any more fun. He wasn't even going to attempt to make sense of what the fuck happened afterwards; that was something he wished he could shoot out of a fucking airlock, but by fuck, if he couldn't stop going over it in his head like some itch that desperately needed scratching.

Spock had fucked him. Spock, the most logical and rational being that Jim had ever had the displeasure to know, had gotten just as wound up and aroused from the fist fight as Jim had. Spock, his fucking Vulcan First Officer and the guy with the biggest fucking stick up his ass that Jim had ever known, had pinned him to the floor and proceeded to fuck him until he literally couldn't walk straight.

And Jim had let him.

Jim had willingly let Spock kiss him, fuck him, meld with him for God's sake, and not once since it started had Jim dared to put a stop to it.

To say that had been one of the best fucks of Jim's life was such an understatement that it made him laugh out loud; not even that Gaila, that Orion girl last Shore Leave or one of his throngs of many other conquests from all corners of the galaxy had made him come as hard as Spock had.

Despite the blistering anger that underpinned the whole encounter, Jim had never been on the receiving end of such intense ecstasy, and the whole mind meld at the end was one of those memories that Jim knew he was never going to get out of his head for as long as he fucking lived.

But then things had turned interesting.

To see the sheer gamut of emotions on Spock's face when Jim looked down at him, to sense that confusion from Spock, to leave the normally unflappable Vulcan fucking speechless, there was something about all of it that made Jim both proud and yet decidedly torn. Spock looked all for the world like someone who'd had the most precious thing in their life revealed to be a lie, someone distinctively unnerved by the whole experience.

Jim guessed that was true in some respects; Vulcans weren't known for their sexual prowess or giving into sins of the flesh when they could analyse some new species of flora or recite regulations for fun, but that was what made things confusing. Despite how subdued Spock had been before Jim left, Jim could've sworn that he saw the need – the craving – for more, the hunger for such violent lust to explode again.

The very slightest softening of Spock's eyes as Jim left though was almost as if all the Vulcan wanted was to kiss and hug him and never let go. Jim had shaken his head with a laugh as he walked into the Turbo Lift, calling for Deck 5. The whole fucking experience must have rattled with his brain if he actually thought for one second that Spock wanted to show and receive such insecure and teenage affection after that.

God, for once, he really did need Bones to hypospray him if he was starting to hallucinate over the idea of Spock being sad because Jim had ditched him.

Gamma shift had already started, meaning that the corridors were scarcely populated apart from the occasional yeoman who decided respectfully to stay out of his way – whether that was just because of the gossip that had to have inevitably spread around the ship about the incident on the Bridge, or how he'd stormed through the whole fucking ship like a kid throwing a tantrum, Jim wasn't entirely sure, but it didn't really bother him either way.

He was the Captain Goddammit, the highest ranking superior on the 'Fleet's most revered ship, and he wasn't going to take shit or questions from anybody.

Except maybe the Admiralty.

Or Bones.

Strike that, Jim groaned as he downed his fourth glass of Romulan Ale within 30 minutes – definitely Bones.

When he'd finally made it up to Sickbay, nurse Chapel had taken one look at him and immediately ushered him over towards one of the Bio-beds, putting a comm through to Bones. Bones had sounded even more grumpy and bristly than usual, but his voice had a kind of content heaviness to it.

It wasn't until the door to his office opened and Jim saw Chekov's head appear, his face flushed red and his hair all fluffed up as he made his way out of Sickbay, trying to smooth out his incredibly wrinkled uniform shirt and buttoning up his pants, that Jim realised what exactly it was lacing Bones' tone.

He shook his head with a grin; he'd have pinned Bones as one of the last guys on the ship that'd be willing to get involved with another officer, but the sex would do him good. Of course, the second he saw the glare on Bones' face as he stormed out of his office, readjusting his own shirt, Jim also realised that he might've inadvertently raised his risk of getting hyposprayed into oblivion.

He had inwardly winced when Bones took one look at the blood and bruises all over Jim's face, and grabbed his arm before dragging him back into the room, muttering under his breath angrily about "cock-blocking bastards who have the shittiest timing, no regard for his own health and just so happened to be his commanding officer."

When they'd crossed the threshold, Bones had immediately locked the door, forcing Jim to sit in one of the chairs before grabbing a tricorder and dermal regenerator, balancing the two with expert precision as he examined Jim.

"What in the hell did you get up to this time, Jim? It looks like you got into a fight with a fucking Klingon, and you damn well know that when Admiralty hears about this, they're going to be pissed."

Jim had tried to put on best innocent face, biting down on his bottom lip hard when Bones pulled a hypospray from nowhere and stabbed it into his neck. The bastard must have had those fuckers stashed everywhere. Once Bones had finished, he walked around the desk – the desk that was looking decidedly trashed and messy, Jim noticed with a smirk – and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out the bottle of Romulan Ale that Jim knew nothing about before pouring out two glasses.

"Now, do you feel like telling me why the fuck you've ended up here?" Bones asked gruffly, his tone indicating that he wasn't in the mood for much of Jim's bullshit.

Jim had leaned over the table, downed his glass of Ale in one shot and proceeded to tell Bones what had happened.

Everything that had happened.

Which had led to now, and Jim forsaking the glass to grab the half-empty bottle of Ale instead when Bones carried asking the million and one questions he'd started shooting at Jim barely seconds after Jim had finished retelling the confrontation in Spock's quarters.

"Are you sure you weren't drunk?"

"Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?"

"Were you out of your Goddamn mind?"

"Like, really? Who the fuck would pick a fight with a Vulcan?"

Jim slammed the now empty bottle down on Bones' desk slightly harder than anticipated, and Bones fell silent as he looked over his now decidedly drunk friend.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck happened. All I know is that this fucking pain in my ass is totally real, I've got a First Officer who can't decide whether he wants to strangle me or fuck me, and, and, Goddammit Bones! I don't know what to do about this!"

Bones immediately took a gulp of his Ale, closing his eyes shut in almost childish disgust. "Well first off, will you stop telling me that you and the fucking hobgoblin ended up screwing each other senseless? That's one image I wish I could shoot out of a fucking airlock myself. Second, how the fuck should I know what you should do, or what's going on in that green-blooded bastard's head? Goddammit, I'm a Doctor, not a mind reader! All I know is that Vulcan apparently has something messing around with his control. I mean, the fact that he fucking melded with you obviously shows that something's up; you know that Vulcan's have strict rules and regulations about all that voodoo and shit."

Jim felt his eyes widened slightly during Bones' rambling, and for a split second, he felt like such a selfish bastard. He'd been so preoccupied in his own anger, and in Spock's anger, and in the whole fucking thing,that he hadn't stopped to consider for even a brief moment that there might've been a good reason for why Spock hadn't been able to hold back either physically or mentally.

Okay, so that didn't mean that Jim suddenly felt like he had to become the Vulcan's best friend, and it certainly didn't mean that that bubble of anger had dissipated either, but he couldn't deny the weird tightness that gripped his chest and his head for a nanosecond before everything went back to normal.

"Look Jim," Bones sighed, his gruff tone no longer so accusatory or prickled. "Spock watched his planet get blown up, he watched his entire race get wiped up, and he watched his mother fall to her death while he could do nothing to save her. He gets thrown straight back into the rescue mission, only to lose his captaincy and listen to you be, quite frankly, the most insensitive bastard in the universe and lead to him trying to kill you where you stood. Don't give me that look."

Jim immediately shut his mouth again, raising his eyebrow at Bones as he continued.

"I know about the whole 'I had to get him to step aside' shit and I understand that, but that doesn't excuse the fact that you basically kicked him when he was down. He finally gets a moment to himself, and then you fucking launch yourself into his quarters and try to beat the shit out of him, then you end up fucking each other. Next thing I know, you've left him to hide up here and he's apparently acting like someone who just got dumped. Now I don't even think you could have any trouble now working out that he's obviously under some stress here, and that it's obviously screwing with his logic. All I can say now Jim is that you'd better not make this any worse than you already have done, because I don't know about you, but I'm definitely not equipped to deal with an emotionally unstable computer."

Bones finished up the last mouthful of Ale, slouching back in his chair as he looked over Jim's bewildered form. "And I certainly don't want to have to deal with an emotionally unstable Captain who got his ass handed to him because he couldn't keep it in his pants."

Jim clenched his hand tight around the empty bottle in his hand, unable to keep the hint of anger out of his now clearly slurred voice.

"Now hang on one fucking minute McCoy! Spock wasn't the one who ended up getting fucked! He was the one who fucking started it, just like he fucking starts everything! I don't care what anybody fucking says, that bastard's had it out for me since I beat his precious Kobayashi Maru, and the bastard still has it out for me now."

"GODDAMMIT IT, JIM!" Bones roared, slamming his fist down so hard on the desk that Jim physically flinched in surprise.

"Shit isn't always about you! I don't care if you do think he's got it out for you, you're the fucking Captain now, and that doesn't give you a fucking excuse to go around trying to beat the shit out of your First Officer because of some stupid test back at the Academy!"

Jim glared back at Bones for a few seconds, but he couldn't stay angry at him. Bones had never hesitated to call Jim out on his shit, to tell him exactly what others had always been too scared to do, and Jim knew deep down that Bones was right. Not that he'd ever admit it of course.

Letting out a deep sigh, Jim leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand as a sudden bone-deep exhaustion ran through him. "It's just, I don't know what the hell to do about this Bones. He pisses me off every single second I hear his voice, or see that stupid perfect hair; hell, some days, even his existence makes me hate him even more than usual. It's just that…"

Jim trailed off, his face flushing red with embarrassment as he mumbled something that Bones couldn't hear, fidgeting in his chair like some kid sent to the headmasters office.

"You wanna run that by me again, Jim?" Bones inclined his head, letting out a sigh of his own when he saw how skittish Jim seemed to have become. "This is all off-the-record, patient confidentiality, yadda yadda yadda, so don't worry."

Jim slightly relaxed, but he didn't look Bones in the eye as he repeated what he'd said.

"It's just that, despite how much I hate the stupid Vulcan bastard, earlier, it was just absolutely perfect, ya know?"

Bones crinkled his nose, and Jim couldn't help but laugh bitterly as he finally met Bones' gaze. "Everything about it – hell, even getting my nose broken and the shit fucked out of me – was like it was meant to happen. I don't know what it is, but when we melded, I could feel everything he felt, and it was like he felt so fucking calm and at peace, and then I left and I almost imagined that he looked like some teenage girl who'd just been heartbroken. I mean,"

Jim's laugh sounded almost fucking manic this time, and Bones immediately stood up, walking over to one of the cupboards and pulling out another hypospray in case it was needed.

"I hate him, I absolutely fucking despise him, yet I'm almost fucking craving the chance to get my hands on him again." Jim sobered up, frowning confusedly. "I actually think I've gone mad this time."

Taking a step forward, Bones rested his hand almost sympathetically on Jim's shoulder, trying to keep the boundary between the professional who wanted to keep his Captain as sane and fit for duty as possible, and the friend who was almost revelling in the fact that Jim had been caught and didn't even know it yet.

The professional who knew, from many months of Xeno-biology and Xeno-culture lessons, that Jim had apparently presented himself as incredibly compatible and appealing to an emotional Vulcan with no control over his desires.

The friend of both men who knew that this had the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong.

Stabbing the hypo into Jim's neck, Bones actually smirked at the look of childish indignation that Jim shot him as he rubbed his hand over the site of the jab, before he let his professional duties take over.

"Right, I think the best thing for this would be to assign you Anger Management sessions, so that you might actually be able to go 5 minutes without trying to get your neck snapped by a stupid hobgoblin who could actually do it. This was probably nothing more than one of those 'heat of the moment' things, what with you being wound up and celibate since last Shore Leave, and Spock obviously having no control over himself. I give it a week, not even that, and things will be all smoothed over, but in the meantime, don't push the green-blooded bastard, okay?"

Okay, so Bones didn't believe a single word of what he'd said, but that didn't mean that he had to let Jim know that. He'd rather not spring it on his obviously drunk Captain that this was probably going to be far from simply down to the 'heat of the moment' if the Vulcan Jim apparently hated so much had anything to say about it.

Feeling the sedative start to take effect, Jim pushed himself up to his feet, immediately slipping straight back into 'Captain mode' as he turned to Bones. "Thank you, and don't worry, I'll try not to be more of a burden than usual." Jim smirked as he winked jokingly at Bones, his cocky and cool façade back in place as he stepped out of Bones' office. Bones shook his head, gazing at Jim's retreating form limping out of Sickbay.

"You better not be, Jim, or so help me God, this isn't going to end well."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, here's the next part for all of you lovely people! It didn't quite end up reaching the awesome, angry smut that I was hoping it would , but I guess that just means that it's saving itself for the next chapter ;) I seriously hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**As always, I want to say an absolutely massive thank you for all the reviews/favs/alerts left on this fic, you all rock hardcore! :) As always, any and all opinions, whether bad or good, are greatly appreciated :)**

**Insert typical non-ownership disclaimer right about here :(**

**Enjoy guys! :D**

* * *

The second time it had happened, at least Jim thought he could claim some kind of innocence.

Okay, so maybe Bones would beat him round the head and tell him otherwise, but Jim hadn't deliberately set out to piss Spock off. He wasn't aiming to piss Spock off at all; it wasn't his fault that the Goddamn Vulcan took everything so fucking seriously, or that he was so fucking sensitive underneath that cold, logical mask he wore.

He wasn't even expecting it if he was to be totally honest with himself.

It had been just under a week since the confrontation in Spock's quarters that led to some of the best sex Jim had ever had, just under a week since everything had been thrown on its head and Bones had warned him not to do anything stupid.

He hadn't. No, really, he hadn't.

After a good night's sleep – courtesy of Bones and those irritating hypos that Jim had to begrudgingly admit weren't so bad sometimes – Jim had turned up to Alpha Shift the following morning with nothing more than a slight limp and some faint teeth marks over the pulse point on his neck that not even the dermal regenerator could heal up.

If he hadn't thought any better, he could've sworn that Spock had been trying to fucking mark him up as his own, but when he'd arrived and found Spock already sitting at the Science console like usual, his face remarkably stoic and unaffected by Jim's arrival as he gave his Captain a rundown on the status of the ship in his normally smooth tone, it almost seemed as if Spock had forgotten the blunt fact that he'd fucked his superior officer into next week mere hours before.

And hey, if Spock wasn't going to mention what had happened, then why the hell would Jim mention it either?

Jim had simply stood behind the Vulcan's chair, listening attentively as Spock finished going through reports from Gamma Shift about the Quasar system they had finished observing and started talking about the new mission that they'd been assigned.

They were being sent to a recently discovered planet on the far edge of the Delta Quadrant they'd been surveying called Gelbeshka, a Class-M planet rich in new species of flora that had high medicinal potential, and despite how much Spock would vehemently deny it, Jim knew that Spock was beyond excited at the prospect of going down to the surface to research the species.

He had sat there for nearly 20 minutes, talking about the culture and customs of the native Gelbesh race, talking about the fascinating ionic make-up of the planet and generally regaling Jim with information that didn't bother Jim in the slightest.

As far as Jim was concerned, this was another one of those missions where he had to do very little but sit there and play nice whilst the Science nerds had their fun. Once Spock had finished, Jim had done what he did every single shift beforehand; he had smiled widely, clapped his hand down on the curve of Spock's shoulder and told him to carry on as usual.

However, it had been anything but usual today. Spock had gone tense beneath Jim's hand, his heartbeat increasing tenfold against the tips of Jim's fingers, and Jim had felt a very faint wave of… of _something_ beginning to emanate through Spock's skin.

Whatever it was, it felt warm, desperate, tentative, like it was trying to reach out towards him but was scared to do so, but it was only there for the briefest of seconds before the barriers slammed back down and Spock straightened back up in his seat, nodding in the affirmative.

When Jim's hand had left his shoulder, Spock had shrunk in on himself ever so slightly, his dark eyes shining with confusion, denial, sadness – much like they had last night when Jim had left – and Jim had felt the smile on his face dim slightly, remembering Bones' warning from before.

He was tempted to ask Spock whether he was okay, but his brain immediately kicked in, informing him of the variety of different ways in which that was stupid as hell. For starters, to ask that could lead to the possibility of the huge, fucking gigantic space Elephant in the room making things very awkward for the rest of Alpha Shift and the Away mission when, as Captain and First Officer, they'd need to be as strong and slick as they usually were.

Secondly, to ask Spock something like that would basically be broadcasting the fact that Spock had actually shown emotions, something that Spock would both be incredibly not-insulted by and would viciously deny as being impossible for a Vulcan.

Thirdly, Jim would be damned if he dared to disrupt the fragile equilibrium that had fallen between them after their fight the night before, so despite the fist that felt like it was squeezing itself around Jim's heart and brain for a split second at the tangible bitterness and depression in Spock's eyes – not that Jim could understand why the hell he actually gave a shit, or why the hell he felt so concerned for the green-blooded bastard – Jim just nodded his head in return before turning and placing himself in the Captain's chair as the rest of the Bridge Crew started to filter in.

The rest of the shift as they'd warped to Gelbeshka had gone reasonably normal – well, as normal as it could for this particular crew anyway; Jim couldn't quite look over at Chekov without smirking over the memory of him leaving Bones' office very sneakily – but Jim could feel Spock's eyes burning into him.

He could feel this odd buzzing warmth very faintly at the back of his skull, like that kind of sensation someone got when they'd had one too many glasses of Romulan Ale, that had been there for the last few hours or so; very occasionally though, the buzzing became almost painfully numb, and whenever that happened, he'd noticed out of the corner of his eye the way that Spock was staring at him, totally distracted from his station.

He'd found it rather amusing to begin with, but the longer it went on, it started to become irritating as hell.

He could feel his anger starting to rear its head again, and after a particularly painful couple of minutes when all he could hear whilst he was supposed to be concentrating on getting the Enterprise into the correct positioning for orbit was the sound of Spock's minute keening beneath his increased breathing, Jim had clenched his fist tightly, hissing out his annoyance as he tried to refrain from marching straight over to his First Officer and asking him what the fuck he had done to his head. However, the sudden hubbub of noise and static as Uhura's voice broke through his increasingly murderous thoughts, informing him that they were cleared to go down to the surface.

Thanking her through gritted teeth, he had tried to ignore the look she had given him as he marched off the Bridge, making his way down to the Transporter room to meet with the rest of the Away Team. He didn't give a shit what he had promised to Bones, but if Spock didn't stop doing… just stop whatever the fuck he was doing, then Jim was going to fucking kill the stupid Vulcan bastard.

When he had heard the softest echo of footsteps behind him, a shadow falling into step with his own against the floor and the warmth of breath just barely brushing against the back of his neck, the sensation in his head was almost starting to sear through him, and Jim snapped.

Stopping abruptly, he turned sharply, pushing Spock against the wall of the corridor and pinning his in place with a forearm across his chest. He'd seen Spock's eyes darken slightly, his mouth just barely open as he stared back at Jim with all of the spite and anger that Jim was glaring at him with.

However, there was something else in the air; something tangible, something that he could almost taste, and the heaviness that settled around them, that drowned out everything except the beating of their hearts and the sounds of Jim's deliberately calming breaths, became almost suffocating.

"I don't give a shit what fucking rules and regulations you give me, but the second we get down onto that fucking planet, I don't want you within 6 fucking metres of me _Commander_, do you understand?"

Jim's voice was icy cold and dangerously soft, and Jim noticed the way that Spock seemed to almost wince at the tone before that Vulcan mask was well and truly back in place, his blackened eyes carefully blank.

"Despite the fact that, as your First Officer and Second-in-Command, it is prerequisite in my duties to ensure that you as Captain are kept safe from any and all threats to your person, I will acquiesce to your request even though it is, in my professional opinion, frankly illogical and unwarranted."

Spock's voice was no longer even; it had dropped to almost a whisper that was so full of fire and anger that Jim had struggled not to flinch away from it. Taking a step back, Jim's hands were clenching and unclenching rhythmically behind his back with such rage that he was leaving deep crescents in the palms, and not even the totally unwanted shiver that ran down his spine at Spock's tone made him stop.

He gave a smirk of triumph when Spock dropped his gaze to the floor, letting out a slight exhalation of breath that was most definitely not a sigh as he let his head tilt forward. The air around them was no longer hot, heavy, or charged with the electricity and hints of lust that Jim hadn't seemed to notice previously; now, it was cold, empty, almost painful and bleak like it was mirroring the arrogant Vulcan standing before him, and Jim couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved before he reigned it in and buried it beneath the hard Captain exterior he prided himself on.

"Good. Now, I'll expect to see you and your assembled Science team in the Transporter room in 5 minutes. If you're even a second late, don't think I won't hold you responsible." As Jim had stalked away, trying not to scream at the sudden icy needles that were threatening to split his skull open as the built up anger ringed and knotted his gut; he never heard Spock's reply, one filled with equal measures of despair, confusion and hatred.

"As you wish, Captain."

When they'd landed down on the planet's surface, things had gone pretty smoothly; if it wasn't for the simmering anger and lack of communication between himself and his asshole of a First Officer, Jim would've almost classed it as a success.

The Gelbesh, despite appearing as rather primitive with their distinct lack of technology, or housing, or clothing – not that Jim had taken to staring at the very beautiful and very naked blue skinned woman who'd come to escort them to their leader – were surprisingly intelligent and incredibly friendly.

Jim had immediately noticed from the variety of people he'd seen on their way through the woodlands that they were tactile and soft-spoken, and that they seemed to react to the vibes of the land; he remembered Spock telling him of their mild telepathy and strong empathy – apparently, they had markings on their hands that would change colour depending on the mood, like some kind of mood-ring, Jim had briefly chuckled - and although briefly concerned at the time about the idea of being surrounded by telepaths who were unknown in their alliances, Jim could now see that he had nothing to worry about.

When they had met with the leader of their planet – Bek; an old, sky-blue skinned male with ornate purple markings tattooed on his hands that glowed white when Jim shook his hand - Jim had felt completely at ease.

The people seemed more than hospitable, and when Bek exuberantly offered a small group of eager natives to accompany Spock and his Science team to an area of Greenland abundant in different species of flora that could provide interesting analysis, Jim felt even better.

Not having Spock within eye sight meant that there was much less chance of Jim losing his temper, and when the buzzing at the back of his skull – although somewhat insistent, like it was trying to keep as tight a leash on him as possible – calmed down to a barely perceptible throb, Jim made a mental note to keep Spock as far away as possible in future if it meant this stupid… stupid thing in his head would stop bothering him.

The rest of the afternoon had passed in a haze of music and cultural exchanges as Jim – without the aid of Spock, which made him smirk – managed to open up potential offers of future admission to the Federation, future possibilities of using the planet for Shore Leave, and somehow also managed to astound the Gelbesh with his knowledge and appreciation of the art and music they seemed to be so versed in.

It had certainly been one of the better missions that he'd taken part in since becoming Captain, and when Bek invited Jim and the rest of the Away team to a feast to mark the occasion, Jim certainly wasn't going to turn it down.

His mellow had been harshed slightly when Spock and the irritating buzzing returned, Spock looking and sounding oddly tired and drained as he spoke with him about the species of flora he and his team had discovered that had highly potent medicinal properties, but it wasn't enough to dampen his spirits.

Okay, so Spock still seemed strangely conflicted around him, his eyes black with what appeared to be a combination of anger and hunger, and he was definitely a lot snappier than usual, especially if someone looked at or touched him in any way – Jim was getting an awful lot of attention from the Gelbesh, but that wasn't unusual Jim thought smugly - but as long as the Vulcan could still do his job, Jim wasn't overly bothered.

It hadn't been until the feast was nearly ended that things had started to turn sour. It wasn't his fault that the young woman sitting beside him found him interesting, or that she was being incredibly tactile and flirtatious, and if she had started breathing against his neck, her voluptuous breasts in full display for him to admire, that wasn't his fault either. He was only human after all.

It had been a while since he'd really been able to cut loose and have some fun – he vehemently refused to count his fight and sex with Spock, because he just _didn't_, regardless of how perfect it had been – and when she began to run her fingers up his naked arm, whispering about the possibility of going somewhere slightly more quiet as the markings on her hand glowed a vibrant red, well, he'd have been an idiot to turn that down.

However, the moment he had stood and turned around, he'd come face to face with Spock. Spock wasn't looking at his face though; his eyes were firmly locked on Jim's hand, on the blue-skinned hand that was encased in Jim's and the fingers that were tightly laced together, and for a split second, Jim could've almost sworn that he heard Spock's heart drop to the floor, the sensation in his head suddenly turning cold and painful – like it had been broken – before Spock's face hardened and he tore his eyes upwards to meet Jim's.

"Whilst you have already explicitly requested that I am not to interfere in your activities or decisions for the duration of this exploration _Captain_, I cannot help but inform you that if you were to continue in your planned actions, you would be very much compromising the success of this mission, as well as potentially causing many diplomatic issues pertaining to the inclusion of Gelbeshka in the Federation."

Jim felt his blood start to heat, and he was well aware that he was failing to reign in his rage; the markings on the Gelbesh's hand had turned from red to jet black.

"And let me tell you _Commander_, that what I get up to within _my_ private life doesn't concern you in the slightest."

Jim watched as Spock's hand clenched into a fist beside him for a brief few seconds before he released it, letting out a rather forced hiss of breath as he leaned in closer to Jim.

"Captain, to engage in sexual activities during a diplomatic and scientific mission with a member of the planet's race involved is not only highly illogical, but also highly reckless and against Starfleet regulations. As much as you claim that your private life is none of my concern, I am forced to tell you that if you consciously break regulations on this mission, regardless of its success, I will have to report you to the Admiralty."

To say that Spock's voice had turned icy was an understatement, and the air had become suffocatingly thick with sheer disgust, hatred and… _betrayal_? Before Jim could open his mouth and respond, Bek had approached, concern written all over his face as he glanced over Jim and Spock.

"Captain Kirk, I trust that there's nothing wrong?" Bek had laid his hand softly on Jim's shoulder, and when Spock's glare had turned almost possessively dark, Jim felt his control snap.

Letting go of the woman's hand, who looked almost relieved to leave as she scurried back towards the feast, he had tried to keep his voice as even as possible in order not to reveal his current overwhelming urge to beat the shit out of Spock.

"I can assure you that neither you nor your people have done anything wrong. I just need a few moments to discuss something with my First Officer, if there is somewhere that we can go that is more suitable?"

The wary look in Bek's eyes suggested that he didn't quite believe Jim, but he nodded his head before leading both men through a woodlands to a clear opening a short distance away from the gathering – the fact that Jim couldn't hear the extreme noise from the feast meant that nobody was about to be able to overhear the inevitable explosion.

Jim waited until Bek had retreated out of sight before he rounded on Spock's statue still body, giving him such a hard push that Spock almost ended up flat on the ground.

"Now, what in the blue _fuck_ were you fucking playing at, huh? You fucking stood there after I fucking _told_ you to stay the hell away from me, after I gave you a direct fucking _order_, and got involved in something that didn't concern you, and for what? So you could satisfy your own Goddamn needs? So you could try to get one-up on me? I could have you fucking demoted for this! I could have you fucking knocked down a peg so damn fast that your head will spin, and this time I won't even need a fucking reason! I don't care what kind of fucking story you try to spin this time, but you have no fucking right to interfere in my Goddamn private life, _Commander_."

Jim's words were so thick with vitriol and fire that he actually saw Spock flinch, his face crumpling with a flood of emotions and his eyes so wide and dark that it if he was human, Jim almost felt like Spock was going to burst into tears if he had been anything but the stupid Vulcan he was.

As it was, the buzzing in his brain had become so icy, so dark and depressing that Jim was finding it almost impossible to do anything, and when he took a menacing step forward, feeling the naked waves of emotion emanating from Spock's skin that seemed to almost perfectly mirror the atmosphere at the back of Jim's skull, Jim felt his face twist in pure hatred and despise as he roughly pushed Spock up against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"You absolute fucking son of a bitch, what the fuck have you done to me?"

If it wasn't for the fierce pounding of Spock's heart in his stomach, Jim almost could've sworn that Spock wasn't actually there. He looked almost in a trance, his eyes boring holes into Jim and his voice uneven and shot through with emotion that Spock could no longer control.

"I can smell _her_ scent all over you."

Jim felt like his skin was almost going to blister from the sudden rush of indescribable anger he felt towards Spock, and he couldn't stop himself from pushing Spock back hard against the tree with such force that the tree shook.

Spock barely gave any reaction to the rough shove, but Jim could see Spock's pupils dilate until they seemed to swallow up all the warmth in Spock's eyes, an almost imperceptible growl rumbling in the Vulcan's chest as he continued to repeat those words with such indignation, disgust and rejection that he sounded like a broken record.

Jim rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath before he gave Spock such a sharp, violently hard slap around the face that the reverberation seemed to ring through the air. Spock's head snapped to the right, a bottle-green mark instantly becoming visible on his tinged cheek, and Jim gripped Spock's chin tight, forcing him to look at Jim as he glared at the suddenly pissed off, yet strangely subdued and dejected, Vulcan in front of him.

"What the fuck have you done to my brain, you fucking pointy-eared bastard? Because I fucking swear on Sam's life, that if you don't fucking stop it right fucking now, then I will make you regret the day you didn't fucking die on that stupid God forsaken planet of yours!"

Spock's eyes shone murderously with untempered anger, with heartbreak and depression, and beneath it all, a sense of sheer fear and terror. "I… I… I cannot consciously do that Captain, for that would mean putting your life at risk, a decision that I cannot willingly undertake."

Spock's voice sounded almost like he was dazed, yet there was a silent plea beneath it that Jim could hear. What that plea was, Jim didn't really give a fucking shit, because all he knew was that he was mere seconds away from killing an endangered species, and fuck, that would be worth the stupid planet he got sent to for it.

"_My_ life at risk? _My_ fucking life at risk? _Your_ fucking life is at risk right now, because I am fucking ordering you to stop whatever the fuck it is you're doing, and if you don't, I am going to fucking rip your ears straight off your head!"

"No."

Spock's answer was immediate, full of desperation and begging as one of his hands tightly grasped Jim's wrist, preventing him from moving away from him; Jim had never seen Vulcan's allowing such wanton displays of emotion, and beneath the searing anger burning away at him, Jim couldn't deny that he felt the slightest hint of concern over Spock's mental state as that dull ache pulsed in his chest again, but that didn't stop the red mist that descended over him as he forced Spock back further, tightening his grip on Spock's chin as he leaned his forehead against Spock's own.

With so much skin contact, it was impossible to ignore the physical outpouring of feelings that Spock couldn't control, that was tearing him apart, but Jim wasn't going to buckle. To stop would undermine his authority, and Spock needed to fucking understand that _he_ was Captain now.

Despite the mental assault though from the strength of Spock's emotions, Jim was more acutely aware of the soft, warm breaths that brushed against his lips, of the sudden pooling of heat in the bottom of his stomach, and the shiver of arousal that skated down his spine only served to piss him off even further.

"And why the fuck not, Spock? I demand you to tell me right now why the fuck you're blatantly refusing my orders, _ex_ _Commander_."

Spock looked torn.

He was trying to turn his head away, to avoid Jim's eyes, but the way that Jim had him surrounded made it impossible. He was trapped, and Jim knew it, but that still didn't prepare Jim for Spock's sudden wave of capitulated anger as he wound his free hand into Jim's hair.

"Because you are mine."

With strength 3 times more than Jim could withstand, Spock suddenly yanked his head forward, smashing their mouths together with such violence, such viciousness, that Jim was almost convinced Spock had broken his neck.

He could feel Spock desperately trying to rut against him, his teeth roughly dragging against Jim's bottom lip as he sucked it into his mouth, and the sudden surge of power that Jim felt surge through him, that he felt the need to reassert as memories of this happening less than a week beforehand, meant that seconds later, Jim had Spock's wrists pinned above his head against the bark, his hips grinding into Spock's own with so much force that Spock's back was being cut against the wood with the movements, and his mouth attacking Spock's with just as much voracity and ravenous hunger that it was almost dizzying.

The buzzing in Jim's head was now so intense it hurt, but it was no longer painful; as the seconds went on and the kiss became bloodier, more forceful and more frantic, it was becoming almost an overwhelming numbness that was threatening to overwhelm all of his senses.

He could feel himself growing hard against the inside of his uniform pants; he could feel Spock's already solid erection rubbing his groin with every thrust against him, and when he heard Spock's almost breathless keen, felt him moaning involuntarily into his mouth, Jim almost felt like his head was going to explode from the onslaught of helpless pleasure from Spock as he pushed his tongue into Spock's mouth.

He never gave Spock any chance to try and take control; no, this time, Jim was going to prove to Spock that he was always going to be the dominant one.

Nothing was going to stop him from getting even with that Vulcan bastard as he clasped both of Spock's wrists in one hand, immediately reaching down with his other to start groping Spock painfully hard through his pants as he continued to grind against him.

Except maybe some shitty timing.

The communicator on Jim's wrist started bleeping, alerting Jim to the fact that someone from the Bridge was trying to contact him, and he tore his mouth away from Spock's with a violent curse, his uneven breaths deep and harsh as he tried to slow down his hips and create some distance from Spock. After a couple of minutes to catch his calm his body down, during which he both pointedly ignored Spock's look of frustrated anger and sadness and tried to stop himself from licking his lips like he _really_ wanted to, he answered the comm, the very deliberate evenness of his voice hiding both his lust and anger at the situation.

Spock's hands immediately latched onto Jim's hips, his black, unshielded eyes almost begging with Jim not to stop; it almost reminded Jim of the look Spock had given him that night when he'd walked out of Spock's quarters, but Jim didn't give in to the pathetically pitiful look in his eyes.

Tearing himself out of Spock's grip with a murderous glare, he quickly smoothed out his uniform shirt, mouthing at Spock with barely restrained malice to "sort himself out now, Goddammit," before the familiar sensation of dematerialisation started to filter through the air and engulf them both.

Jim made sure he was at least 3 feet from Spock, his hand clenching into a fist whenever Spock looked like he was going to reach out to him, step closer, even speak to him, until eventually, Spock gave up, standing there in almost painfully numb silence as he stared at Jim.

The fear, the depression, the sadness in Spock's eyes could all be seen clear as day before Spock barely forced them back down behind that Vulcan mask, and Jim couldn't help but feel that uneasy, guilty pang as they were both beamed back up onto the ship.

Things had just become a whole lot worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So, after life decided it was going to conspire against me and not give me any chance to get this written, I've finally been able to get this chapter finished! Hopefully, you guys will all enjoy it :)**

**I can't express just how much I love you all for the reviews/favs/alerts on this! As always, all reviews and comments are greatly appreciated - whether good or bad - so feel free to tell me what you think :)**

**As always, I own absolutely nadda :(**

**Enjoy! :) **

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Day and night didn't really exist in space, even if the settings on the ship currently said that it was gone midnight, but Spock would have had great trouble denying that he wasn't relieved at the lack of people wandering around the corridors.

He knew he could reason to anyone who could've questioned him on why he was aimlessly traversing the ship at this time that days on Vulcan were much longer, and that as such it was still much too early for him to contemplate retiring to his quarters for rest, but he knew the truth.

The weary fatigue on his normally calm and composed face would instantly have overridden any logical argument he could've made. The sheer gamut of emotions he could feel clawing through his blood any second he let himself have a moment to even think about them were a testament to just how tired he was.

But he couldn't go back to his quarters.

To go back to his quarters would mean going back past his Captain's quarters, and he refused to allow himself to put into a position that was 86.4309% likely to end up with the Captain confronting him.

It was illogical, he knew, to be so apprehensive of approaching Jim, but whenever Spock caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bulkheads and saw the blooming green bruise on his cheek, he quickly found himself reasserting the fact that his presence would only anger the Captain and that it was rational for him to give Jim as wide a berth as possible.

If only things were that simple.

The more Spock wandered, the more the swirl of thoughts in his mind became harder and harder to comprehend, until it reached the point where Spock had to physically lean back against the wall of the corridor – only 4.2 feet away from where Jim had issued his orders this morning to stay out of his business while planet-side – so that he could breathe again.

That in itself was a falsehood, Spock tried to think calmly; breathing was an automotive involuntary response, one that could not be affected by mental confusion or exertion, but even as Spock tried to assure himself of this biological fact, he could feel the lump coming in his throat and a vague sense of – of _something _churning away in the pit of his stomach, and the more he tried to control his emotions, the worse the feeling became.

He needed to meditate. He needed to rebuild his shields, but the moment he thought of returning to his quarters, a distinctly human bubble of panic would make it impossible for him to move from his position.

The panic was unwarranted – at this time of night, there was statistically less than a 17.96% possibility that Jim would still be awake – but that didn't make it any easier to push away. Spock was vaguely aware that his heart rate had increased 1.5x, that the humidity in his approximate location seemed to have increased exponentially, and all of it at the thought of his Captain.

Spock could feel the imprint of anger and hatred, of lust and hunger and the faintest shadow of guilt and concern lingering in the back of his mind. In Jim's mind.

He deserved it.

For the sheer acts that he had committed, for such shaming of his heritage, he deserved to be scorned by the one he had wronged.

The thin, silvery strand in his mind that extended beyond his own physical being was one that he treasured and loathed with equal measures; treasured for the mere potential that existed with its creation, but loathed for what it represented.

Loathed for what he had done.

Loathed, because he knew with almost unerring certainty that what he longed for would never come to fruition.

From the moment that he had melded with Jim during that night in his quarters, his mind had been desperately trying to reach out to the one who it desired, to the one mind that screamed to him beyond anything else in existence.

He needed that connection, and despite how much his Vulcan half vehemently shamed him for needing such dependence, the bitterly cold loneliness inside his own mind – both from the destruction of a lifetime's worth of bonds after Vulcan's demise and the more pressing fact that Jim obviously had absolutely no desire to reciprocate the link between them – made a very real shiver run up his spine as he felt his breathing come harder and faster.

It was getting more difficult to control the maelstrom of conflicting emotions in his mind, his two distinct heritages waging battle, and Spock slumped back against the wall, shutting his eyes as he tried to logically rationalise the different lines of argument that he could make out amongst the wave of uncontrollable thoughts that continued to fly through his mind.

_Argument 1: He had committed a severe, punishable crime in his decision to meld with the Captain without ascertaining his complete permission – one that was beyond reprehensible on his planet - and without informing him of the potential ramifications of such a connection. Psychic assault on a Psi-null. An act proven punishable by death. Jim was angry with him because of the residue of emotional transference that had taken place and meant that he could experience Spock's own feelings. _

_Rebuttal: Regardless of whether or not Jim had any idea of what would happen, Jim had been the one to physically initiate the meld, and not once in the duration had he thrown Spock from his mind or expressed disgust at the actions. _

As Spock lamented, he could almost argue from the point of view of his eidetic memory that Jim had seemed to - dare he say – enjoy the meld, but now Spock knew better.

His memories were being distorted by his own desire and emotions; that by believing Jim had enjoyed himself, he could continue to delude himself with the prospect that he could still have Jim for himself. Spock's hand clenched tight into a fist, and it was only the sharp pain of his nails digging into his palm that made him consciously relax and continue to process his thoughts.

_Argument 2: He was endangering the welfare of the Captain by continuing to stay in close proximity to his person, especially considering that Jim had shown to hold deep hostility and anger towards him that resulted in forced physical contact due to him not being in control of his emotions after the mind meld. By endangering the welfare of the Captain, he was indirectly endangering the welfare of the crew of the Enterprise due to his refusal to follow orders making him a liability during missions. _

_Rebuttal: It is in his duties as First Officer of the Enterprise to ensure the welfare of the Captain and crew, which means that his approximate closeness to Jim's person is unavoidable. _

However, the more that Spock thought about it, the more he realised just how flawed his argument was.

How could he continue to try and defend his shameful actions against Jim as being necessary when Jim had already shown him just how wrong they were?

Why did Spock continue to flout orders and demands just to try and stay close to Jim, allow his mind to continue desperately reaching out towards Jim's when the Captain had already proven that he wanted nothing to do with him?

Why could Spock no longer deny the irrational hurt and pain that came with every time Jim walked away from him, every time Jim rebuffed his emotions with barely restrained malice or every time Jim struck him so strongly?

Spock's heart was pounding so fast in his stomach that it was impossible, even for him, to be able to judge the beats per second; the bubble of panic was narrowing around him, his thoughts and emotions all focusing in on the only logical conclusion that dominated Spock's mind as he raised a closed hand to his lips, feeling the very human urge to release the choked sob stuck in his throat.

A sob that would be the only physical sign of his inexcusable failure to control his emotions, of just how much he had allowed his shields to be destroyed by one man that would only enforce the shattering details of what Spock now knew to be inescapable.

_Argument 3: Captain James Tiberius Kirk is his T'hy'la. _

_Rebuttal: Jim rejected him. Jim is disgusted by him. Jim hates him. The one being in the universe that holds half of his soul in his hands is the one who wants to destroy him – physically, mentally and emotionally – more than anything else. _

Spock barely had time to comprehend that thought before a burst of agonising pain shot through his head, the fragile bond stretching and twisting as it tried to keep itself wrenched into Spock's mind, and Spock doubled over, releasing a near scream of pain as he frantically tried to rebuild the shields that Jim had so easily been able to crack.

He was breathing hard through gritted teeth, his face sickeningly pale even for a Vulcan as he began to slam his fist back into the wall behind him with each pulsing flurry of emotion. He could feel the sense memories of Jim's anger, his hatred and his disgust, and it only served to feed back into the vicious cycle that was becoming harder and harder to withstand.

He had felt pain before, but he had never imagined that he could feel anything close to wait was happening to him now. It felt like it was pulling him in, threatening to drown him beneath the icy cold waves, and Spock wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to fight against it; to be rejected by T'hy'la, to have the bond fester and die yet still continue to live was a fate more damning than death.

However, the fleeting memories of those seconds when Jim had looked at him like he was the centre of his universe, those shy smiles reserved solely for him, made Spock keen as he desperately tried to fight to regain the shattered remains of his control before he shamed his heritage any further than he already had.

"What in the blaz- Spock!"

Spock could barely hear the gruff voice above the sound of the blood and thoughts that were rushing through his skull, but he felt the presence of another being, one that gripped his shoulders hard and pushed him back into the wall with such negligible strength; he felt almost defiled that someone was bearing witness to his humiliation, but the sharp stab of something being pressed into the tense muscles of his neck and the quiet hiss of cool liquid entering him suddenly made the noise and overwhelming agony inside his own mind recede as he slumped forward, resting weakly on the unfortunate being who happened to be close enough to reach.

He heard a soft whoosh as the person was obviously winded by the weight and force of his body losing its strength – _"Goddamn it, I'm a doctor, not a weightlifter; how the hell does a vegetarian hobgoblin weigh so much anyway?"_ – before he felt a blessed numbness permeate his entire being and the foggy haze lift from his senses.

He wasn't even aware that he had opened his mouth until he heard his own voice, faint and rasped with the violent force of his keening, murmur to his audience.

"_Jim_."

The gruff voice seemed to take a much less humorous edge as it hardened. "I don't bel- I told that fucking bastard what would happen, and did he think to actually listen to me for once? No, of course not, big bad Captain doesn't have to take orders from his fucking CMO…"

The sharpness of the words suddenly seemed to die down when Spock, horrified, found himself unable to hold back the sob that he'd tried to contain as the blistering cold that invaded his mind seemed to leach his very life, not even the warm arms wrapped around his abdomen that kept him upright as they moved in some unknown direction making him feel anymore connected to reality.

"Jim, Jim, Jim… I have caused thee pain, pain returned to thyself for what thy have done. Thee have forsaken our bond, for thy do not deserve thee…"

The arms around him suddenly tensed, and even as he sank further into the darkness that seemed to ensconce every inch of his body and lull it into a reprieve from the pain, Spock could still feel the spike of anger and overwhelming concern that radiated from who he was leaning on.

At moments like this, he couldn't help but loath his telepathy; his telepathy was what was responsible for everything in the first place.

"_Bond_? Oh no, Spock, please don't tell me you and Jim actu- I'm gonna kill that Goddamn asshole!"

Spock found himself being laid flat on something – his senses were certainly less than optimal, but he was sure that it wasn't the regulation bed in his quarters; the atmosphere seemed to hold a much more sterile quality to it, regardless of where he was – and a thick layer of warmth being pulled over him as the individual continued to rant and rave, their voice becoming less predominant as he felt the almost helpless wave of nausea and fatigue roll over him.

He hadn't even been aware that he was shivering as more sharp stabs seemed to pierce his neck, thankfully dulling the pain and the torrent of emotions as he unwittingly succumbed to the sedation, a single Vulcan word the last thing to leave his lips before he fell into the veil of darkness and numbed silence that blissfully awaited him.

* * *

Bones was absolutely seething. It was at times like this that he felt nothing but hatred for his best friend, and as he marched down the corridors towards the ships' gym – the computer had reliably informed him that was where the fucker was - he almost felt like hatred was too tame a term to describe how much he wanted to deck the motherfucker responsible for everything that had gone wrong with Spock.

Despite their frequent verbal sparring sessions and apparent dislike for each other, Bones couldn't deny the fact that he felt great affection and friendship for the green-blooded Goblin, and after watching Spock's meltdown in the corridors outside of Sickbay, seeing the intense mental and physical pain he was going through and all because of his asshole of a Captain, Bones couldn't help but feel the urge to help the poor bastard.

Bones had warned Jim not to play with fire, yet Jim had to go way too far way too many times; it was much like the Academy all over again, except this time, the consequences of Jim's actions were far graver than him having to avoid an ex or two.

This time, Jim was practically risking the sanity – hell, even the survival - of his First Officer, all because he couldn't let some pathetic grudge go, all because he had to try and prove himself the bigger man.

Well, Jim obviously hadn't counted on the fact that Leonard H. McCoy wasn't as easy to break as an emotionally compromised Vulcan was. He had put up with Jim for too many years to be scared of anything that Jim could try and do now in an attempt to defend himself.

Not even his asshole of a best friend would surely be able to have an answer for the mental and emotional abuse he was forcing his stoic Vulcan officer through, and if he did, then Bones had no issue pulling the medical card on him; rank sometimes did have its privileges, and not even the Captain could outrank the CMO if they saw the reason as warranted enough to need it.

The closer to the Gym Bones got, he could hear the heavy thwacks of flesh hitting hard padding, the sound reverberating practically revolving around the otherwise deathly silent ship, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes; he could almost hear Jim's arguments through his head already about how much Spock pissed himself, how he hadn't done anything wrong yadda yadda yadda.

Bones had heard enough of it over the years to know Jim better than he knew himself, but after seeing the dark green bruise on Spock's face, hearing the admission from the Vulcan's own mouth, not even Jim's infamous charm would be enough to worm his way out of this one.

Sensing his approach, the door to the Gym slid open, and Bones took a deep breath, trying to keep all of his very real anger at his blockhead of a Captain under check.

"JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK!" Bones roared, and Jim visibly flinched as he turned suddenly, the punch bag swinging wildly as he assumed a defensive stance, his knuckles red raw and sweat dripping from his face before he realised who had called him and he let his barriers drop.

"Hey Bo-"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING _BONES_ ME, YOU GODDAMN FUCKING BASTARD!" Bones snarled, getting right up into Jim's face as he stood every inch of his height. "What in the blue fuck did I tell you, huh? What did I fucking say about Spock?"

Jim looked almost stunned speechless for a brief second at the sheer power behind Bones' words, before a slight sneer twisted at his lips. "I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't do anything, huh?" Bones spat back mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he took a step closer to Jim, watching him automatically take a step back. "So I suppose you didn't have anything to do with the fucking breakdown I just had to deal with, _Captain_?"

The sneer suddenly dropped from Jim's lips, and the way Jim's eyes widened for just a brief few seconds, shining with confusion, worry, guilt, was one that Bones was going to file away for future reference.

"What breakdown? You know all that bullshit Spock claims about Vulcan's being too good for emotions."

To anybody else, Jim would've sounded cold and uncaring, but Bones could hear the dazed tone to his voice, and he instantly knew from the way that Jim tensed that he was finally starting to get through to him.

"Well, if they weren't fucking emotions, then I'm not a fucking doctor! I know a breakdown when I see one, and I don't give a shit what Vulcan's claim about their freaking voodoo shit, but Spock just had a complete breakdown – in the middle of a fucking _corridor_ for God's sake where anybody could've seen – and it was all _your_ fault, you heartless bastard!"

Okay, so Bones knew that he was probably being slightly harsher than the situation called for, but he had to make his idiot of a best friend understand the damage he'd done, and if his vitriolic outburst was what finally drilled the message through Jim's thick, annoyingly dense and self-centred skull, then he wasn't going relent on his uncharacteristic anger just to preserve Jim's Goddamn pride.

"_My_ fault? What do you mean _my_ fucking fault, _Doctor_?" Jim was obviously trying to play the Captain card here, but he was failing miserably; Bones could see the bitter remorse and regret in Jim's eyes, and that only confirmed that he was fully aware of what he had done to the Vulcan now cluttering up his Sickbay.

"Well, let's see," Bones countered angrily. "For one, that fucking shiner of a bruise you left on his face is more than enough evidence for me to file a charge for physical assault and have your ass hauled out on grounds of being unfit to command, _Captain_," Jim blanched under the steely gaze Bones fixed himself, yet Bones couldn't bring himself to feel remorse for his friend after what he had done.

"Second, how about the fact that Spock was practically screaming your name for the whole fucking Alpha quadrant to hear when he was punching a hole through the wall by my office, or when he was damn near _sobbing_ in my arms? You need to hear anything else, Jim?"

Jim looked so fucking stoic that if it wasn't for the sheer conflict of emotions in his eyes and his distinctly dishevelled appearance, he would've looked more the picture perfect Vulcan than Spock did, and the silence became almost suffocating as Jim stared down at the floor like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

Bones instantly knew that look; it was Jim's guilty as hell face, the one that said he knew he'd done wrong, even if he wasn't entirely sure how or why that was, or even why he particularly cared, and Bones found it difficult to stay mad at the poor bastard, even if he did deserve it.

"No," Jim muttered quietly, his inflection missing the cockiness or self-assurance that usually echoed in his voice.

If anything, he just sounded lost and confused, and Bones made the fleeting connection that if they were bonded like Spock had said they were – even if Jim wasn't aware of it – then Jim would've automatically had some knowledge of Spock's emotions and inner turmoil, no matter how much he tried to hide it beneath the layers of anger and bitter hatred for the Vulcan that Bones could instinctively tell seemed much less prominent than he previously thought.

"You've really done it this time, Jimmy boy," Bones chastised wearily, his rage gradually dissipating in the face of Jim's capitulation. Jim sighed deeply, before finally steeling his resolve and looking Bones in the eye.

"I know. It's just… I couldn't _stop_ myself, I just felt so fucking angry and he was just right there being so irritatingly Vulcan and… it just _happened_, you know?"

Jim finished up rather lamely, shrugging his shoulders as he reached his hand up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. Jim didn't get nervous. There was obviously something going on here, Bones mused, and if it was affecting an unflappable _Vulcan_ to the point of a complete mental and emotional _breakdown_, then Bones knew that Jim had to be feeling something too.

"Yes, but that doesn't give you the right to fuck with him the way you have, especially after I told you what was going to happen if you played with fire," Bones scolded.

"I know, okay! I know I messed up, I know that things went too far and you have absolutely no idea how much I wish things had gone differently, but what can I do now? Like he's even going to let me go within 20 fucking light years of him after what I've done."

Shaking his head softly, Bones clasped a hand down on Jim's shoulder, his voice firm but definitely lacking the violent anger that had filled it earlier.

"You need to fix this somehow Jim, not only for Spock's sanity, but for yours and the crews too," Bones reasoned as he led Jim towards the door of the Gym.

He wasn't going to reveal to Jim just how seriously this could impact on Spock's sanity if this went much further; it wasn't his place to tell Jim about the bond that existed between them.

"Give him some space, let him meditate and do all of that weird Vulcan voodoo shit so he'll be less likely to rip you the new one you totally deserve, then go and speak to him. This needs to be sorted out before it totally destroys you."

_Or Spock_, he thought worriedly.

When Jim gave a slight smile, Bones pushed down his concern before wrapping his arm around Jim's sweat-dampened shoulders as they started walking back down the corridors towards Jim's quarters.

"Now come on, I have a bottle of Saurian Brandy with my name on it, and some hypos with yours."

As they disappeared into the Turbo Lift, Bones couldn't help but notice the way that Jim still seemed to be so conflicted – filled with equal measures of anger and guilt, confusion and sadness and unwavering levels of remorse – and he gave a sigh.

If this didn't work out, then the Enterprise would be down both a Captain and a First Officer, and even worse, the whole crew would be down two dear friends.

If Jim couldn't fix this, then Bones didn't know what he could do.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, I totally suck at updating fics with any type of regularity, and I apologise for that, but I finally managed to get some free time to get this part all finished! Hopefully, you'll all enjoy it! :)**

**I want to say an absolutely insanely massive thank you for all the reviews/favs/alerts on this! You have no idea how awesome you all are! :D As always, feel free to leave any reviews or critiques :)**

**I own nothing as usual :(**

* * *

Jim seriously hated his life sometimes.

The chronometer was almost trying to goad him into a bad mood as it flashed 0523, and when he rolled over to try and suffocate himself in his pillow, the computer registered the movement and decided to blind him with the sudden influx of sickening bright light.

His violent protestations at the rude awakening were horribly ignored, and the equally violent pounding in his skull made him rue the day he had agreed to at least 5 years of Alpha shifts and early starts.

There was something else floating around in his head as well; it was like a soft shimmer that blanketed his mind, that constant buzzing sense of being observed, but he was optimistically putting that down to nearly half a bottle of Saurian Brandy and a hypo from the night before.

Hell, it wasn't so much optimistic thinking as almost pleading that the odd sensations that had plagued him for these last few days were actually just a by-product of all of the shit that Bones had been pumping into him. It was beginning to drive him insane.

He wanted to blame Spock. He needed to blame Spock.

He wanted to be able to get him to admit what he'd done, fix it and then go back to hating him like he had since the Academy.

He had to blame Spock.

He couldn't blame Spock.

The conflicting thoughts that continued to chase themselves around in circles like they had the night before made him groan as he pulled the pillow up over his face and dimmed the lights to 10%. He almost wished that he could pin this newly detrimental line of thought down on Bones.

When they'd gone into Bones' office to drink away the issues of the day and all the spectacularly bad things that had happened _– "I mean, you shoulda seen him, Jimmy! Bawlin' and screamin' like a kid! Fucking hobgoblin breaking my fucking wall and ev'rything" _– Bones had rather soberly admitted to him that something was obviously going wrong.

_"I'm telling ya, Vulcan's don't pull that voodoo shit on just anyone, heat of the moment or not!" _Jim had been ready to sit there and counteract Bones with arguments so damned logical that Spock would be put to shame, but he hadn't.

Every single spiteful word and flare of hatred that he'd been trying to hold onto for weeks – years even – seemed to drain out of him with every mouthful of Brandy that went straight to his head, and he sat there in silence, chin resting lopsidedly in his palm as he contemplated.

_"Jim, I need you to understand this. Whether you like him or not, you've caused this. Whatever is going on, you're responsible, and you need to man up and accept the fact that your fucking up this time is gonna come back to bite you if you're not careful." _Jim didn't need to be told the fact that he'd fucked up. He knew it. He'd known it from the second that he'd left Spock's quarters that fateful night, when he'd abused his power to alienate his First Officer, when he'd slapped Spock and tried to kiss away the anger that he'd created within Jim.

Jim had known from the second that Spock had turned his gaze on him when he'd left him that night with nothing more than a sneer and a roll of the eyes. If Vulcans didn't possess emotions, then he had no damned idea exactly what that was he'd seen in Spock.

If Spock was anymore human, Jim could've sworn that he'd seen such rage, such lust, yet such crippling depression and loneliness in the Vulcans face when he'd walked away. Jim knew he had caused that; despite how much it made him cringe to admit it to himself, he felt almost guilty, sorry even, that he'd been the one to put that look onto Spock's face, especially when he knew from personal experience how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of those fake smiles and indifferent encounters, but that didn't mean he had to suddenly become the green blooded bastards best friend.

Jim smiled wistfully for a brief moment beneath the pillow before it fell from his lips as he remembered Bones' response to those exact words mere hours before. _"I never said you had to sit there and become his number one fan Jim, all I'm saying is that you should respect the guy you're gonna be stuck with for the rest of your life." _Rest of his life?

It had puzzled him last night as well when Bones had mentioned it, but any time Jim tried to steer the conversation back into that particular direction, Bones had frantically shaken his head, telling Jim not to worry about it, or to forget what he'd said, muttering something about patient confidentiality that made Jim feel concerned.

It was impossible for him to deny the fact that he was concerned, not to his best friend. Even now, the more he thought about everything that happened, it was still impossible to deny the bubble of guilt and remorse that seemed to throb in the pit of his stomach.

He knew he'd been an asshole, but it was easier for him that way. Keeping people at a distance came much more naturally to Jim than letting people close just for them to hurt him. With Spock, it had been a much stronger desire than usual to keep him at an arm's length, with the events of the Kobayashi Maru trial and being left to freeze to death on some Godforsaken planet only seeming to feed into the space he kept between the two of them.

It had been so much easier for him to drown himself in the self-righteous anger he felt towards the Vulcan, and although he couldn't hide the tiny little part of him that was almost glad that the bastard was suffering, staring at the ceiling for most of the night made him realise that maybe it was time to try and build the bridges that the Elder Spock had hinted at.

As much as it pained his pride and his humility to admit defeat, he had to accept the level of maturity that came with being Captain, and if that meant manning up and apologising to Spock, then he'd begrudgingly acquiesce. He didn't doubt the fact that Bones had been telling the truth about what had happened the night before, and after seeing the hole in the wall and emerald green smears of Vulcan blood down the corridor, Jim now knew just how trivially pathetic he had been over the whole thing.

He could feel his ego starting to rile up, his internal voice reminding him of just how good it had felt to sit there and get one-up on the obnoxious bastard, to make him show that he wasn't the perfect Vulcan and that Jim seemed to have him completely under his control, but Jim tried to clamp down on it as he took a deep breath.

Sure, he'd noticed how Spock seemed to almost shadow him without restraint since the encounter in Spock's quarters, how Spock followed every single order regardless of how much it went against everything Spock's heritage had taught him, how Spock had almost seemed desperate in his neediness and desire to touch Jim on Gelbeshka, how he looked to be practically craving the physical contact despite just how brutal and violent it was, but Jim couldn't take advantage of that.

_"I mean, can you imagine what it must feel like to have every last connection in your life be ripped away from you like that? To watch your mother, the only one to accept and love you for who you are, fall to her death? I can't imagine what he's going through. To be honest, I'm not surprised the hobgoblin's latched onto you, what with you being his bondm… his commanding officer. You can't push him Jim, or you're just gonna end up making shit worse, and I'm not sure there's anyone alive who could deal with the aftermath if he fell off the deep end."_

He couldn't understand why he felt uneasy about the idea of manipulating that control that he obviously held; after all, he was the Captain of the ship, and Spock, despite being his Second-in-Command, was still his subordinate and therefore had to abide by everything Jim said.

However, when he remembered the almost agonisingly cold and despairing pain that seemed to emanate from the base of his skull, the feelings that seemed to mirror Spock's own physical and emotional state whenever he was even within 6 feet of the Vulcan, Jim found it harder and harder to reconcile himself to the idea that he could justify his actions.

Would his father have been proud to see him become so Xenophobic, so willing to exploit the weakness of another individual for nothing more than petty revenge? Was he really turning into Frank, rejoicing in the pain and suffering he put others through for no reason other than the fact that he could?

Screwing his eyes shut, Jim swallowed down the sudden lump that stuck at the back of his throat before taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Bones was right; he needed to fix this. He needed some way to make this right, to try and rebuild the bridges and the connections that he'd seemed so ruthlessly intent on destroying, not only for himself, but for Spock too.

This was the chance to finally put behind them everything that had happened, to start afresh. Jim swung his legs over the edge of the bed, before collapsing back into the duvet with a grunt and a moan.

It was definitely time to start afresh.

After a hangover hypo though.

* * *

It had taken a nice, long hot shower – rank did have the amazing privilege of hot water whenever Jim wanted it, which he was definitely thankful for now – and a cup of coffee before Jim was able to muster up the energy to drag himself down to the Turbolift and call for the Sickbay.

It had barely gone 0600 hours, which meant that other than the occasional Gamma shift officer and the Science nerds who seemed to be too obsessed over their plants and piles of dust to actually want to sleep, the ship was practically silent.

Jim was rather glad about that; despite the unfortunate reputation that seemed to follow Jim from the Academy of being able to out-drink, out-fight and out-fuck any man in Starfleet, he really didn't want any of his crew to see him stumbling around the corridors half hung over and desperate for a hypo.

For starters, if he was determined to be the ever consummate professional, being hung over was definitely not a good way for the Captain of the most revered ship in the 'Fleet to present himself, and second, not a single member of the bridge crew would believe it if Jim admitted that he was willingly going to Sickbay for anything that wasn't a bottle of alcohol he knew nothing about.

It also meant that he could go 5 minutes without someone acknowledging his rank, thrusting him into that awe-inspiring bubble of absolute dominance that managed to get him into the whole stupid predicament in the first place.

It was nice to have a moment where he could pretend that he wasn't holding the lives of over 500 people in his hands, where he could just be "Jim, the charming and brash idiot with the big mouth who was about to potentially get his ass handed to him like a normal guy," and not, "Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S Enterprise, Starfleet's golden boy, defender of the Universe, general Klingon and Admiralty ass-kicker and all-round good guy."

No, if he was going to do this properly, if he was going to attempt to silence the control, the anger, the thirst for pain and revenge and dominance, he couldn't sit there and wave his rank in Spock's face. For just 5 minutes, he was going to have to hope that he could make Spock understand that he himself understood what he'd done, try to sweep it all into the past and hope that he didn't get his jaw broken.

He couldn't help but give a slight smile as he closed in towards the door of the Sickbay; he felt somewhat grounded that his confidence hadn't fled along with the rest of his nerve, because if it had, then he didn't know whether or not he'd be able to make it through the door.

He knew that Bones had kept Spock in after his breakdown, kept him sedated and relaxed whilst trying to devour every medical journal and document relating to Vulcan physiology that he could find; since the destruction of Vulcan, it appeared that they'd become a lot less secret in almost every aspect of their culture and heritage, which meant that he knew Bones would have more than enough information to work from, but every time he'd commed Bones that night before drifting off into his thoughts – apparently, Bones slept less than he did – Bones had told him that he had nothing new yet.

The hesitation in his voice suggested to Jim that he didn't think Bones was entirely telling the truth in that respect, but he trusted the doctor's judgment, so he let him get away with it. However, the prospect of coming face-to-face with Spock, of actually having to try and explain what he wanted to, was daunting, and he couldn't admit that the unknown reaction that was waiting for him beyond those doors was intimidating.

After steeling his nerves with a few deep breaths, holding his head up and rolling his shoulders in order to try and physically construct a veneer of normality and self-assuredness, Jim stepped forward, walking through the doors into the nearly empty Sickbay.

He could clearly see Bones and Spock in Bones' office, the room locked and soundproofed in what was obviously an attempt to preserve all aspects of privacy and respect for the Vulcan as Bones said something. Jim couldn't read lips, nor could he move any closer to the door without giving away his position to Bones – who'd undoubtedly raise hell if he got close to Spock after he'd specifically warned him to stay away for the sake of his health – but he could see just how concerned Bones was.

The look on his face was soft and sympathetic, with a level of care far beyond that of just a doctor; Bones clearly felt for the green-blooded bastard, no matter how much he tried to deny it with their frequent verbal sparring. It was blindingly obvious though why he was worried, and it made Jim's heart tighten in his chest and his mind grow cold and despairingly desolate as he took a good look at Spock.

The Vulcan was pale, washed out, the vibrant bruise on his cheek standing out so prominently that it made Jim's hand hurt to look at it. He was standing at parade rest, his hands clenched together behind his back with such familiarity that it made Jim briefly give a bitter smile, but his shoulders and back were slumped forward, his eyes staring firmly at the floor.

He looked exhausted, almost lifeless, but when Spock gazed up at Bones, giving what appeared to be an abnormally short answer for him, Jim could see the depth of the emotion in Spock's stare.

His eyes were dark and empty, tempered through with such pure hurt and sorrow that Jim felt like he could literally feel every ounce of warmth draining from his body, his mind going almost agonisingly numb with icy pain as he watched Spock droop his head down to the floor once more.

Bones took another step closer towards Spock, partially blocking him from Jim's view, but that didn't make it any easier for him; if anything, the new angle only highlighted just how wretched his First Officer was, and the knowledge that he'd potentially been responsible for all of it was one that made him feel horribly guilty.

God, if this was the result of trying to carry around years of unneeded and unsuppressed hatred and loathing that had exploded onto the Vulcan by matter of bad timing and convenience, then it made Jim feel sick to his stomach.

He watched as Bones rifled through one of the drawers to his desk before pulling out a hypo and two small vials of amber and clear liquid – anti-depressants and sedatives, he'd taken them enough personally to be able to identify them remorsefully – and injecting them into the side of Spock's neck.

Spock didn't even flinch, standing so still and pallid that he looked like death, before Bones placed a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before walking over towards the door to his office and unlocking all of the computer controls.

He could faintly hear Bones' voice say something to Spock before ushering him out, but before he could duck aside to avoid detection, he heard Bones' gruff drawl, thicker and more pronounced than usual. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?"

He could clearly make out the exasperation and the slight irritation in Bones' voice, but that didn't deter him from taking a step closer towards the duo. He tried to ignore the way that Spock seemed to curl up on himself when Jim stood in front of them, his entire body going completely rigid as he kept his gaze lowered to the floor.

"Captain," Spock acknowledged respectfully, but just the hollow, muted sound of his words _hurt_.

Where Spock's tone usually reverberated with power and control, with that blend of coolness and cockiness that made Jim smile regardless of how much he tried to deny it, now it sounded quieter than a whisper; Jim irrationally found himself despising the sound of Spock's voice like this.

Pointedly ignoring the near-glare that Bones was giving him from somewhere behind Spock, Jim very cautiously reached out his hand, before tentatively resting it on Spock's shoulder in a mirror of the contact Bones had given him.

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

Spock's entire body seemed to lose the tension it had held, the Vulcan faintly trembling as he looked up into Jim's face, and the sheer level of crippling need, of devastating depression and loneliness that crashed through his eyes, rolling in thick waves from Spock's very skin and transferring directly through Jim's fingertips that were brushing against Spock's bare neck, almost made Jim cave to the floor beneath the overwhelming weight of it.

Jim could feel that sensation at the back of his mind again, like it was trying to desperately reach out to something it  
couldn't touch, but before Jim could say a word, Spock took a sharp step back, breaking all of the physical contact and resuming his typically statuesque posture, trying to reign in the emotions that Jim could still see running through him.

"I apologise, Captain," Spock murmured slightly louder and stronger than before, but Jim could clearly hear the tremor and shakiness that plagued Spock's words despite his attempt to disguise it. "As a result of the treatment that Dr McCoy has administered, I am currently unable to reliably control my emotional state and therefore any potential transference, so I must ask that you refrain from any naked skin contact until I have adequately repaired my shields."

Jim knew a lie when he heard it, and despite that age old adage that Vulcan's couldn't lie, Jim knew that was bullshit. He knew the real reason why Spock's emotions had been turned on their pointy little ears, and it had nothing to do with hypos; he also knew, on a purely instinctive level that seemed to rise from somewhere within the sensations in the depths of his mind, that Spock had deliberately intended to transmit his feelings to Jim – not necessarily for any malicious reasons, but purely to show Jim what he was obviously unwilling to put into words.

Jim had to admit that, on the same basic level as before, it hurt to hear Spock basically beg him in his own way not to touch him, but he knew if he wanted to get anywhere in rebuilding the bridges he'd seemed intent on burning, then he was going to have to respect Spock's wishes.

"Alright, as you wish," Jim nodded softly, smiling brightly at the Vulcan in a vain attempt to try and lighten the atmosphere. "I just wanted to know how you were feeling this morning. Bones informed me that you had… that you had spent the night here under his watch, and I wanted to make sure you were still in one piece."

Jim waited almost eagerly to hear the reply from Spock that he needed to hear, _"Why would sleeping under Dr McCoy's watch be beneficial to me in any way, and why would you be under the impression that I would be in less than one full physical skeleton?"_But instead, he was greeted by an uncomfortable hesitance, a silence that seemed suffocating as Spock looked to be almost debating whether or not Jim actually cared.

"I am… fine, Captain."

A contraction, with one of the most ambiguous words in the Standard dictionary; now Jim knew without a shadow of a doubt that Spock was anything but fine.

Spock's entire demeanour, the residue of emotion he could still feel permeating his skin, even his eyes, were practically screaming out just how bad Spock was, and while it pained Jim to be unable to think of anything to say, he knew that he couldn't.

He needed Spock alone, somewhere that he would be able to express just how truly sorry he was without anyone overhearing, to explain the reasons for his actions, but before he could muster up the courage to ask Spock if he fancied meeting him in his quarters tonight – trying to think of a way to ask that question without either making it sound incredibly suggestive, incredibly seductive or having Bones kick his ass was a lot harder than he thought – Spock cleared his throat softly.

"If you would excuse me, Captain," God, the desperate grip that Spock seemed to have on hiding behind Jim's rank made him feel like more of a bastard than before, "I must retire to my quarters for rest and nutrition before the start of Alpha Shift."

"Hang on, you hobgoblin, I've already told you that if you even step foot onto the bridge in the next 48 hours, I'm going to stick a hypo in your eyeball!" Bones objected fiercely, taking a step closer to Spock. Spock rounded on him almost startingly quick, his frosty and uptight body language in complete contrast to the emotions Jim could still see clear as day.

"Yes, I am well aware of your medical orders Dr McCoy, but I assure you that being on the Bridge will be much more beneficial to my recovery, as well as allowing me to finish recalculating the course to the next Star base and complete the research that needs submitting to the Admiralty regarding Gelbeshka. I will not allow you to impede my progress on an ailment that will not be suitably treated by staying in my quarters all day!"

The sudden sharpness in Spock's words took Jim by complete surprise, and the way that Bones' eyes widened at the vitriol that seemed to have worked its way into the terribly broken and otherwise quiet tone of Spock's voice suggested the same with him, but before either man could question or even make comment to it, Spock had looked up at Jim imploringly, his eyes almost seeming to beg for Jim to grant him his request.

Jim almost felt a lump clawing at his throat, his stomach tightening into knots as he met Spock's suddenly frustrated face; he wanted to let Spock go, but seeing the serious concern in Bones' eyes, feeling the residue of need and sadness and pain coming from the Vulcan, Jim decided to put his foot down, hoping he wouldn't make a mistake.

"Commander, if Dr McCoy believes in his professional opinion that you shouldn't be on the Bridge, then I'm sorry but I have to go with his judgment."

The sudden burst of agony that seemed to explode through his skull as he finished his words, the look of sheer devastation in Spock's eyes before he managed to reign it in, made Jim feel like he was going to fall to the floor, but he took a deep breath to steel his countenance.

He found it almost impossible to focus at the way the sensation in the back of his mind was desperately trying to reach into him again before it suddenly receded just as quickly as it came, the shutters visibly slamming down in Spock's eyes as they dropped to the floor once more.

"I... I understand, Captain. If you will excuse me, I require meditation." If it wasn't for his close proximity to Spock, Jim didn't think he'd have actually heard him, but he nodded his consent, his eyes soft and warm with concern as he watched the Vulcan disappear past him and through the doors of the Sickbay.

As Jim and Bones turned to stare at each other, the worry was almost suffocatingly tangible before Jim clapped his hands together suddenly to break the tension. "Right, hypo me up Bones, I've got a ship to run."

* * *

Sitting in his chair, Jim cast a disparaging eye over the Bridge crew, noticing the way they kept surreptitiously eyeing up the temporary Science Officer sitting at Spock's station.

It didn't feel the same without Spock's stable presence.

Everything felt wrong.

It only felt like it was going to get worse, and it was that thought that made Jim slump back into his chair as he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back the headache he could feel beating down on him.

"Status report, Lieutenant Glaze," he intoned, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"All systems normal, Captain," came back the higher, less refined response.

It wasn't the same. It was nothing like Spock's smooth baritone voice. It didn't send the shivers down his spine.

Grabbing the PADD on the arm of his chair, Jim brought up Spock's location on the screen. He wasn't in his quarters.

He was on the Observation Deck, completely alone.

Jim sighed bitterly, feeling the growing depression and sadness that lay silently in the back of his mind, knowing that this was absolutely nothing compared to what Spock was going through, to what he had done.

Jim's eyes slipped shut; he seriously hated his life sometimes.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So... yeah... hi guys. I apologise for just how insanely long it's been since I last posted anything on this - RL just got absolutely crazy, and then I kind of lost motivation, but the bug really bit me over the last few weeks to get back to writing, so here I am! :D I sincerely hope that you guys enjoy this chapter, and that it's enough to forgive me for being so haphazard with the updates *puppy dog eyes***

**As always, I own absolutely nothing and no-one, despite all my Christmas lists asking Santa for otherwise :(**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Jim knew that this was probably going to be a bad idea.

There had been times when his recklessness and disregard for the rules had been seen as necessary, essential for the mission and even praised despite how much the Admiralty protested. Whilst the pen-pushers at Starfleet weren't even on Jim's mind this time, his eyes flickering across the screen and his fingers working on the Data PADD, Jim knew that this was probably one of the worst things he'd ever do in the line of duty.

He didn't even need to do it; he knew with the searing and heavy guilt roiling in his gut that only grew more pronounced over time that this was nothing more than him refusing to let sleeping doctors and Vulcans lie, but Jim couldn't help it. To say that the atmosphere on the bridge today had been unsettling would be the biggest understatement in the galaxy. Two days in a row with an anonymous face sitting where Spock should have been, doing the jobs that Spock should have been doing, the equilibrium had been well and truly turned on its head, and this reflected in the bridge crew.

There had been no easy banter and attempts at teasing that would traditionally end in Spock rolling his eyes and lauding logic despite how much the crew knew he secretly revelled in their actions and human impulses; there had been no easy flow of communication and companionship. Everything had been stilted, and whilst no-one on the bridge could blame that solely on the poor scientist who'd volunteered today to take Spock's imposing position next to the captain's chair, it was obvious that Spock's missing presence was affecting things more than what Jim thought could ever be expected.

It made Jim feel guilty and strangely conflicted to admit it, but it was affecting Jim more than he ever thought possible too. He couldn't think of a word to describe the hollow feeling that seemed to languish within him, the stab of remorse that pulsed through him every time he thought of the Vulcan, or turned and saw someone that wasn't Spock beside him. It didn't help either that Jim couldn't take his mind off of him, both figuratively and literally. Every mental image was of Spock's face and his eyes in Bones' office, of the haunted expression and pain that Jim had caused him. Every thought seemed to reverberate the icy cold depression and despair that Jim had felt through Spock's skin from that brief moment of contact in the Sickbay.

If Jim closed his eyes and tuned out the sound of the beeps and the drones that made up the soundtrack of the ship, then Jim could have sworn that he could hear Spock's thoughts, his voice and his emotions emanating from that dark shimmer in the back of his mind that Jim had viciously denied existed. Jim didn't know what was happening anymore. He didn't know if this was some form of Karma, Vulcan hoo-doo or fucking Alien Spores that had wormed their way into his brain, but it had reached the point where Jim could no longer remain ignorant to what was happening to Spock.

He'd thought about going and talking to Bones, telling him all about the revelations he'd been having late at night about how Spock really wasn't as much of a green-blooded bastard as he'd first thought before begging him for some information about what was going on, but he'd thought better of it. Bones, despite tactfully not mentioning it out of deference to Spock's privacy, was still pissed at him for triggering Spock's breakdown in the first place with his own stupidity, as well as for ignoring his medical orders to stay away from his First Officer, which meant that going to talk to Bones would probably lead to claims of false sincerity and lots and lots of shouting.

Of course, there was also the whole patient confidentiality thing that Bones seemed incredibly desperate to uphold this time, and whilst Jim could sit there and pull rank, demand to know the diagnosis and hide his own desire to know the truth behind a load of spiel about the welfare of the crew, Jim knew that Bones would see right through him and still tell him nothing, maybe even get more angry at him for trying to force his authority on Spock's dignity and right to respect. Whilst Jim was frustrated that Bones was proving less than helpful on this occasion compared to many before, Jim couldn't help but give a smile at how much of a consummate professional his best friend had become since the Academy, let alone how much Bones cared for the stupid Hobgoblin.

Jim was hoping that mending bridges with Spock, maybe getting to the bottom of this and extending the proverbial olive branch of peace to the Vulcan would be enough to trigger that transformation in him as well – although, to be honest with himself, what Jim was doing now most definitely wasn't the best way to start on that journey. If Jim could hack the Kobayashi Maru, then hacking into Starfleet medical records would be a walk in the park, but that didn't mean that Jim wasn't feeling slightly ashamed and disgusted at his actions as he overrode Bones' password to enter the doctor's personal files.

He knew logically and rationally that Spock deserved better than this, but Jim could also feel on an emotional level that even if Spock found out about his ways of garnering information about his condition, that Spock would be able to understand that it was all for his benefit at the end of the day. Sure, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Bones would kick his ass all across the galaxy for this before threatening him with every regulation and hearing under the sun, but if Bones didn't want things found out, he should have better security on his files.

Typing Spock's name into the patient bar on the top of the screen, Jim leaned back in his chair, nervously tapping his fingers against the desk as he glanced at the door to his quarters; he didn't expect anyone to walk in on him, but that never stopped the paranoia of being discovered when he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. Things always had a way of conspiring against him like that, and just because he'd become Captain didn't mean that that was going to change in a hurry.

A sudden burst of writing and images, numbers and records started streaming onto the screen, and Jim leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands as he stared intently at the data before him. It felt weird being privy to such intimate details about the Vulcan, but Jim was able to push down the guilt that he felt as he read general statistics about Spock; height, weight, allergies, injuries. However, as Jim started scrolling into the more recent entries on Spock's file, he felt the knot in his gut starting to twist tighter and tighter, the numbing pain in the back of his mind starting to pulse and ebb as he stared disconcertingly at what was before him.

_Stardate 09.04.2236: Destruction of planet Vulcan. Patient now surviving member of Interstellar Genocide and listed as endangered species in accordance to Starfleet policy 12-4-37A. Initial assessments show signs of severe telepathic and empathic shock, emotional distress and sensory deprivation caused by inability to shield. Multiple contusions and abrasions to left arm and wrist caused by combat. Ability to command compromised and relieved from position after outburst of bodily violence against acting Captain. Patient refused treatment for mental and emotional injury against medical advice._

_Stardate 11.04.2236: Patient showing signs of moderate insomnia and loss of appetite. Outbursts of uncharacteristic behaviour observed by members of department consistent with continued emotional distress. Telepathic receptors still sensitive and unable to shield from basic intrusions. Telepathic and empathic shock still present by admittance of patient, within upper parameters for the surviving Vulcan spectrum, but patient refusing treatment against medical advice. Patient presenting symptoms of Clinical Depression caused by major trauma and bereavement, but still refusing treatment. Patient to be placed under observation for remainder of journey to Earth._

Jim roughly wiped his hand down his face as he re-read over the entries; they both coincided with the days before that fateful night in Spock's quarters, and after scrutinising the details of Bones' brief snapshots, Jim was beginning to understand what Bones had been saying to him all along. Spock's reaction to Jim's presence that night, and the way he looked when Jim walked out with nothing more than a sneer and a cheap shot, all made sense if the Vulcan had been so deeply affected by what had happened. If anything, it made Jim feel rather nauseous to realise that he had taken advantage of Spock when he was in no fit condition to even defend himself, let alone make any kind of rational decision. Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to push down the roiling in his stomach as he scrolled down the page, finding it more and more difficult to dissociate from the emotions he could feel leaping from the page and feeding into the shadow at the back of his skull.

_Stardate 12.04.2236: Patient found in corridor at approximately 0053 hours, displaying signs of severe emotional and mental distress consistent with Terran psychotic breakdown. Self-inflicted injuries to the right hand due to repeated punches to Sickbay outer wall. Bodily vital signs all elevated above upper Vulcan parameters including Testosterone and Adrenaline levels at critical. Scans show severe empathetic and telepathic injury consistent with Category 1A diagnosis, with ability to shield and control thought and emotional transfer at less than 4% in concurrence with Starfleet and VSA guidelines. Patient also makes explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual as of yet unknown, although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed identity of Acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk. Patient show symptoms and signs of severe Clinical Depression bordering suicidal despondency at personal belief of "not being wanted," "being undeserving" and "not worthy of living." Patient treated with Klingon-grade Sedatives, Anti-Depressants and VSA approved Muscle relaxants and Shielding compounds in order to lessen further emotional or telepathic damage. Patient to be kept in Sickbay under sedated observation and reassessed under morning rotations._

The rush of bile that Jim could feel burning the back of his throat was so strong that it was all he could do not to be violently sick as he frantically read over the entry again and again, slowly feeling his entire body become numb. It was all there in black and white, and somehow the medical terminology and brief formality of the words on the screen made it seem so much worse than Jim could ever imagine it would be.

When Bones had come storming up to him in the Gym and verbally ripped him to shreds, Jim was sure that Bones had been overreacting; after all, how the hell could Bones say that it was all Jim's fault? Now though, Jim could see that far from overreacting, Bones had actually held back the night before. Bones would've had every Goddamn right to hit him, and he knew now that he deserved it. Hell, he deserved to get his ass kicked all across the fucking galaxy and every alternate universe that surrounded it if this was only a brief snippet of what he'd done to such a proud, strong individual.

He felt sick to his stomach; Spock was grieving, in mourning for the death of his planet, his race and his mother, and yet Jim had pushed him to his breaking point.

He'd basically taken advantage of a vulnerable, compromised and depressed being – which in itself was bad enough – then had very deliberately fed the fires by continuing to taunt and torture him with his teasing touches and flippant sexual attacks. Despite just how bad the situation was, Jim couldn't help but shake his head with a bitter, near hysterical laugh as it started to sink in; at times like this, he couldn't believe how the hell he'd been able to survive the Academy, let alone make it to Captain if he was capable of pulling off this kind of shit for no reason than a petty, pathetic feud that Spock apparently didn't even consider himself a part of. Spock deserved so much better than to be serving under a self-centred idiot like him.

He didn't care about all of this destiny bullshit that the Elder Spock had been feeding him; deep down, there was still that small part of him that tried to be logical about the whole thing – Spock needed to be removed from command otherwise Earth was going to end up becoming one giant party popper, Spock needed to be motivated into taking action against Nero that would go against all Surak and Vulcan teachings, save the universe yadda yadda yadda, he completely understood that – but that didn't stop him feeling like the worst kind of predator for taking advantage of that just to make himself feel better.

Wiping a hand roughly down his face as he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion overcome him, Jim looked back over the last entry. It felt weird to think that someone like Spock had caused that much damage to himself in such a short space of time, but what felt weirder was that he _knew_.

He'd been half asleep the night before when he'd suddenly felt the most intense, agonising pain tear through his head, worse than any beating or drugging he'd ever experienced in the line of duty. He'd been paralysed, almost hyperventilating as what felt like claws scratched against his mind, trying to pull… something out, tears streaming helplessly down his face as distorted emotions, memories and desires flooded his senses; rage, pain, loathing, crippling fear and anguish, and the shadowy echo at the back of his skull rippling like a bubble that was about to be burst.

It had gone on for what felt like an eternity, his heart thudding so hard and irregularly in his chest that he thought it was going to go straight through it, his vision going black around the edges as whatever it was in his mind that seemed to be being attacked fought and struggled to stay wrenched in place, when suddenly it had stopped.

Completely stopped.

It was almost as if someone had injected a hypo full of Klingon tranquilisers straight into his nervous system as his body relaxed and his mind settled, and Jim had felt the corresponding echo – like an out of body experience almost – do exactly the same as he slumped back into his pillow, his breathing erratic and his eyes bloodshot. There was no way he could get back to sleep after that, so he did what he'd always done in those sorts of situations, when he felt so fucking powerless and defenceless against whatever was happening to him; he threw on a T-shirt and headed straight to the Gym to work it out, time of the night and his urge to violently throw up be damned.

When Bones had stormed in, looking for the entire world like the tough Southern bastard that Jim knew he could be and knocking him down more than a few pegs for what he'd done to Spock, Jim knew there had to be a connection. Now, as he looked back over the same sentence over and over – _"Patient also makes explicit multiple references to a "bond" with an individual as of yet unknown, although repetition of the name "Jim" suggests unconfirmed identity of Acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk"_ – the answer was there in black and white. Well, just in black, Jim thought rather childishly as he looked for any way to distract himself from what he was reading, but it made no difference all the same.

It was an answer.

Spock knew what was happening to them; that must have been why he became so desperate down on the surface of Gelbeshka when Jim had told him to stop, or why he'd circumvented around the questions Jim asked in that way only Spock knew how to do. A smile lit up Jim's face for a moment, before it abruptly disappeared again. He couldn't ask Spock because if he did, then he'd have to admit that he'd been hacking into his records, which would probably get his ass kicked by both a Vulcan _and_ a certain Medical officer, and Jim certainly couldn't afford to push his luck anymore with Bones regarding the whole situation; if Bones had his way, he'd probably have stripped Jim of his command by now, and he certainly didn't want that.

He sighed.

Dead end.

All he needed to do was to get some answers out of Spock, and he couldn't even do that. Resting his head in his chin, Jim thought for a few moments, before another slight grin curled his lips. "Computer," he called, just a bit of authority in his voice, "engage lock Captain Alpha Four, and open up communications with Ambassador Selik at the Vulcan Embassy."

"Communication line open, contact commencing," came the automatic reply as Jim settled back into his chair, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Sometimes, being dropped onto a God forsaken ice planet and finding an alternate version of your Vulcan First Officer did come in useful at times like this. The static faded, replaced with a face he recognised so well; it was older, wrinkled and withered from time and age, but there was still that spark in the Elder Spock's eyes that reminded him so much of his own. It was quite scary actually.

"Good evening Jim," came that smooth baritone voice over the connection, and Jim had to resist the urge to shiver just slightly at the way his name rolled off of the Vulcan's tongue; it wasn't quite the same as the way his Spock called him Jim, but obviously his body couldn't give a shit about the difference. "I am surprised that you have called quite so late, is there something I can do for you?"

Jim smiled back, his features belying a confidence he wasn't entirely sure he had as he sat up slightly straighter in his chair. "Actually Spock, there is." When Elder Spock's eyebrow rose in questioning and slight amusement at the use of his given name, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest, Jim felt himself relax slightly.

"And what would that be, Jim?"

A fleeting thought came to Jim's mind, making his smile fade as he realised the potential ramifications this could have for him; sure he was going to get answers, but at what cost? And at what damage to any potential friendship or reconciliation with _his_ Spock? As Jim watched concern start to cloud the startling bright eyes staring at him, Jim quashed down those fears, clasping his hands together as he looked at the Data PADD next to him, desperately hoping that this was going to be worth it.

"I need some help. I have questions… about something that's happening to Spock… and I think to me too."

* * *

Spock gave a sigh, watching the slow movement of the stars as they passed by the window of the Observation deck.

They were tiny, insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, just hollow little specks that shone bright before burning out into nothing. They were just like him. He briefly admonished himself for thinking such emotional, such self-centred, such… _human_ things, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind had he dismissed them.

He was a wreck, a shame to his Vulcan heritage and teachings, strayed so far off Surak's path and his own beliefs that he wasn't entirely sure he could even justify calling himself Vulcan any more. He looked like a Vulcan, he had Vulcan blood, he had Vulcan physiology, but that didn't make him a Vulcan; not with his human heart, his human thoughts and emotions that disgusted him more and more every day. He closed his eyes wearily, his energy drained from fighting with himself. Disgust was such a human emotion, he hypocritically silenced himself.

But that was what he deserved.

That was what he got for embracing the needs and desires of the flesh, for sating the lust and confusion that James Tiberius Kirk had created within him. That was what he got for even thinking that James Tiberius Kirk could understand. That was what he got for even thinking he could tempt fate. Fate and desire had destroyed stronger men than him. Even now, he could still feel the sense memories of Jim's hands against his bare skin, of Jim's lips against his, of his breath caressing his ear as he moaned low with every thrust. Spock didn't even attempt to control the shudder that rolled down his spine as he replayed that night in his mind's eye, too tired and conflicted to try and reign in his shameful responses.

Thoughts of Jim practically consumed him now, had done for days, and he let out a quiet breath as he leaned back against the wall behind him; he knew there was no way he'd be able to meditate now. He'd been trying for hours, since McCoy had released him from Sickbay and since Jim had touched him, but he could barely even broach the shallow layers of his mind. An uncharacteristic lump formed in his throat; even a child could do better than him.

A slight discomfort in his hand made him look down. There were deep crescents in the palm, his nail digging into the sensitive nerve endings and creating a feedback loop of pain. It was almost perverse, Spock briefly acknowledged to himself, how Spock's mind welcomed the physical pain as an old friend against the agonising mental and emotional pain that attacked him each and every time he dared to touch the thin, silvery bond that stretched between him and Jim. It was damaged, it was wounded, torn into fragments and weakly pieced back together, but Spock knew that he deserved it.

If he was to be honest with himself, he knew that what he truly deserved was to have broken completely, but that would be the cowards way out; a relatively quick and painless death from a broken bond was laughable compared to the weeks, months, years even of torture and madness that alluded a festering, dying T'hy'la bond. He knew that Jim would experience some… discomfort, some sadness, maybe some anger as Spock condition worsened, but it was much better than dying alongside Spock if Spock broke the bond completely.

Spock owed Jim that much, even after what he'd done.

The small metal bracelet around Spock's right wrist started to beep, and Spock gave a slight bittersweet smile that he wouldn't dare to show around anyone else. McCoy had put it on him this morning for long distance monitoring; he'd said it wasn't healthy to keep Spock locked up in Sickbay when he wasn't physically injured in the conventional sense, and Spock couldn't be bothered to argue with the doctor. Spock was going to humour him in his attempts at healing him, was going to allow McCoy to spout emotional human drivel and try and plant false hope about admitting the truth to Jim.

McCoy had said that Jim would understand, but Spock knew that the doctor was lying, and he'd told him that much earlier. McCoy had just looked at him, his eyes full of concern and pity as he placed his hand softly on Spock's shoulder and told him:

"Jim is a better man than you think. If this is something that could kill you, and he could do something to stop that, then he would do anything to help. He likes you, you green-blooded Goblin. Okay, not in the normal sense, but Jim isn't normal and you're not exactly the poster child for emotional shit either. Just… talk to him."

Spock hadn't even bothered with a response, knowing rather disgustingly at that point as he stared at McCoy that his eyes would be doing all the talking for him, revealing the sheer gamut of emotions that Spock was too weak to control. It was shameful. He closed his eyes tight, taking a deep, deliberate breath as he focused all of his energy into trying to meditate for the 12th time in the space of as many hours.

He was a Vulcan. He had no need for emotions. He had no need for hope. He knew his – he was loathed to use the word, even in his own mind – destiny.

He was a Vulcan.

He was a proud, logical Vulcan.

He was… He was…

A suddenly disorientating lurch ran through his mind, his heart thudding in his chest as images of Jim, memories of their night together, of their fight on Gelbeshka, of Jim moaning his name came flooding into his senses, the bond refusing to be repressed beneath Vulcan morals and teachings as it flared brightly. For the 12th time that night, Spock was thrown from his meditation was a gasp of pain, the bile that was burning his throat and roiling his stomach making him feel violently ill that he was unable to control in such a confused, manic state.

For what felt like an eternity – Spock's sense of time had been thrown out by the sensory overload from his disrupted meditative state – Spock slumped back against the wall, his harsh, heavy breaths gradually fading as the bracelet around his wrist lit up like a switchboard; Spock knew when he saw McCoy the next morning he was going to be questioned about what had happened, nothing escaped the Southerners beady eyes. He also knew, rather depressingly, that going back to McCoy without having talked to Jim was just going to lead to more questions.

Spock knew that McCoy was right; he knew that he had to speak to Jim. Even if he couldn't admit just how deep the situation had become, common Vulcan tenets dictated that all people affected by the creation of a spontaneous bond – either by accident or by psychic assault like Spock knew he had committed against his Captain – had to be informed of its creation and all ramifications for the future. Taking a deep breath against the very human shudder of fear and doubt that suddenly rippled through him, making his stomach knot tight with nerves, Spock mustered together the energy to get to his feet, trying to ignore the tremor that ran through him as he started towards the door of the Observation deck, darkness falling around him as the sensors followed his departure.

Spock couldn't even feel surprised when he lifted his hand and grazed the very tips of his fingers down his cheek.

He was crying.

Vulcan's didn't cry.

Crying was illogical.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Erm, so, yeah. I realise that I really seriously suck at actually updating, my bad. RL turned absolutely manic, and it took me like 3 months just to get half of this written! However, fingers crossed I will be back with the next chapter, and a couple of other fics, really soon seeing as this time next month I'll be off college until mid September! Oh well, I just hope you all enjoy this, and I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has followed this fic in my disappearance! You all rock hardcore :)**

**As always, any and all reviews/critiques/opinions are happily received :)**

**No, I still don't own any of the pretty people I write about... *sobs***

**Enjoy guys!**

* * *

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

Heavy steps echoed around the empty corridor as Spock made his way to the lift.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

A skip in his pulse. A throb in his gut.

Spock was almost painfully aware of his bodily responses, tuned to the increasingly stronger variations from the norm. It had gradually been getting worse since he had left the observation deck, since he had finally decided to go and see Jim. A human would recognise these as signs of nerves, distress skirting the edge of a full blown panic attack, but Spock ruthlessly quashed the idea beneath the thick layers of control that he was trying to cultivate.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

The soft metal whoosh of the lift opening was briefly acknowledged, but Spock was too absorbed in the tremor that had gripped his hands as he wrung them behind his back to do much else than step inside. The lift closed, but didn't move; for a second, Spock found himself illogically hoping that there was some kind of equipment malfunction before he realised it was actually because he hadn't told the computer where he wanted to go. He almost didn't want to.

To admit out loud that he was going to Jim's quarters, to come face to face with the one being in the universe that had made Spock feel unimaginable depths of love and horrifying explosions of pain, was something that Spock could barely contemplate as a sudden fist squeezed around his heart, making it hard to breathe for a moment or two. He wasn't entirely sure if he could do this. He couldn't bring himself to the door of a man who hated him without remorse and expect to leave with his sanity intact. James Kirk had destroyed men stronger than him.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

"Officer's Quarters," Spock intoned, his voice cracked and hoarse in a display that would have been impossible to stand for any other Vulcan.

A strange sense of loathing settled ominously in the pit of Spock's stomach; if the last few days had taught him anything else, he certainly wasn't like any other Vulcan. He couldn't work out whether to be pleased or utterly distraught at that thought. As he stared into the metal surface opposite him, Spock felt like his entire world was narrowing down to the simple act of breathing. He wasn't sure he could do more than that without literally going insane. He refused to even try and think about the potential ramifications of what he was doing. The silvery strand that extended, limp and tattered, beyond his own mind into that of his Captain's - his T'hy'la, he moaned painfully – pulsated with agony with every heartbeat, and Spock tempted to dare poke at the rawness that was enveloping his mind and soul.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

The walls of the lift were becoming oppressive, boxing Spock in as he felt the sudden rush of bile roil and churn in his gut. He could feel Jim's hands upon him, his lips against his skin, his entire body breaking into a cold sweat at the hypersensitive memories. It was too much. His heart was beating out of his chest. He doubled over on himself, his hands burning with the psychic overload as he clasped them over his ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of anything other than his own stuttered breathing. Tears were stinging at his eyes, the monitor bracelet around his wrist flashing into life once again. He couldn't control the flare of emotions that were clawing through him; rage, anger, shame, disgust, and fear, all-encompassing and all-consuming fear that was threatening to rip Spock apart.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

The lift stopped, the door sliding open, and Spock all but flung himself from the claustrophobic cage, gulping the blast of fresh air like he was a starving man. He screwed his eyes shut, barely able to resist the overwhelming urge to release a very unVulcan scream of frustration. He was relieved that it was too late in the evening for anyone else to be lurking in the corridors; after the Sickbay incident, he didn't think he could stand letting another member of the crew see him in such a shameful state of disarray and vulnerability. It was illogical, he thought sharply as he rested his forehead against the wall, desperately trying to reign in his suddenly out of control bodily functions.

He had no reasons to perceive himself as vulnerable. Terrified? Yes. Worried about his future? Without a doubt. But vulnerable? What was there about going into the quarters of a man who he had psychically assaulted, who now held Spock's life in his hands, and almost certainly expecting the harsh, numbing blow of rejection that could render him at all vulnerable? A split second, and a slight bittersweet smile twitched his lips despite himself; sarcasm, he believed Jim called it. The second that that thought flitted through his mind though, Spock's face became hard again, an uncontrollable tremor running through his hands as he pushed himself from the wall with what nearly constituted a sigh.

He felt like he was a child again, seeking the affection and contact from his mother after an emotionally trying experience with his peers, affection that he would indulgently revel in despite the frown of disapproval from his father at such a human, tactile behaviour. This time though, his mother wouldn't be there to comfort and reassure him if his Captain turned against him; his father wouldn't be there to argue the rational steps that Jim and he should take should… when this conversation and their relationship deteriorated. There was no safety net around James T. Kirk, and that sent a very real shiver of fear down Spock's spine as he started walking towards his Captain's quarters, his feet seeming to drag with every step.

It disgusted Spock as to how much of a slave he was to Jim's illogical genius, to that startlingly dynamic mind, to those feather soft lips and rough hands that promised so many things when they brushed against his skin… Spock balled his fist tight.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

He couldn't let himself reminisce about fleeting touches and dirty little secrets that they held between them. He couldn't let himself remember just how whole, how complete he had been when Jim's mind was embraced with his, their bodies locked together in some primal dance of lust and power. He just couldn't. He knew that he was going to lose it all; remembering those all too brief moments of ecstasy would only make it harder. A heavy ball of despair and agony settled in his gut, fisting his heart like a vice; how could he call it ecstasy when his T'hy'la was unwilling? Psychic assault was comparable to rape on Vulcan. Rape. He had forced his T'hy'la, mind and body, forged a connection that was destroying them both, and yet he could only focus upon the way Jim had screamed his name, how Jim had tightened so beautifully around him, how his eyes had become blown with sex and lust and a million things that Spock had been unable to define at the time.

Now he knew what those things were. Hatred. Pain. Loathing. Fear. Unadulterated anger.

Spock barely managed to hold back the bile that suddenly burned his throat. How could he have the nerve to ask Jim to give him something that Jim had never wanted to have in the first place? He wasn't sure he could even look Jim in the eyes without descending into a pit of misery and insanity. What if Jim asked Spock to justify himself? What if Jim wanted Spock to wrench the bond from his mind? What if Jim wanted him to suffer out of spite and revenge for what he had done?

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It was getting harder to breathe again, his pulse increasing 32%, his vision going dark around the edges as Spock fought against the panic that was rearing its head again. He took a step backwards, and another, and another, his body tense and ready to launch Spock back down the corridor into his corner of safe, quiet cowardice. The bracelet around his wrist was flashing and beeping with every sort of alarm McCoy could possibly ever give himself grey hairs over, yet Spock could barely bring himself to care. He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready to throw away his life, Surak teachings and Vulcan etiquette be damned. Jim would eventually understand. Maybe Jim would grieve him, if Jim wasn't already in the void with him.

Jim. His Captain. His T'hy'la.

In a split second, the atmosphere changed. Jim's soothing voice was massaging over the strained bond in his mind, softly caressing it like a cautious child approaching a Sehlat for the first time, and whilst Spock knew that it couldn't be more than a fragile hallucination his conscience was creating to protect himself, he fell for it. Opening his eyes, it was like the real world had broken through the cracked and ancient holovid that had been playing out before him, and it was like he could finally breathe again for the first time in an eternity.

Inhale.

One. Two.

Exhale.

Whilst sceptical of the absurd notions of fate and signs, Spock couldn't help but revere whatever had relieved the moment of madness. He couldn't run away from this. He owed it to Jim, if nothing else. At least if Jim rejected him, he could walk forward into the fires with his conscience clear, his sense of identity intact even if the rest of him was in complete ruins. The fear was still roiling in his gut, pulses of abject terror clenching around his heart, but as Spock took a step forward once more, closer to Jim's room, he felt it become easier to quash it all down beneath the control that was beginning to reassert itself once more. It was weak, tenuous at best, but it was there at least, and when Spock heard the faintest melody wrap itself around his senses at the rippled sound of Jim's voice emanating from within his quarters, Spock was more than thankful for it.

His entire world had become narrowed down to that nondescript grey door, to the low hum of a conversation he could make out was taking place, and it was like the rest of the galaxy had ceased to exist. His hand was clenching almost convulsively at his side as he wrestled to keep a lid on the torrent of emotions bubbling away below the surface, nails leaving neat, precise crescents in his palm, but the occasional scratch of pain was enough to keep Spock focused as he came within metres of Jim's door. Jim's voice was more pronounced now, and Spock felt almost like a voyeur at the conflicting tones that laced Jim's words. There was confusion; a lot more confusion than Spock could understand from his position in the corridor, but that wasn't what caught Spock's attention.

There was hurt. There was an inordinate level of pleading. There was concern and determination. There was Spock's name. Spock heard his name. He suddenly froze in place. Jim was talking about him. He heard his name mentioned again, no heat or anger in Jim's voice, and Spock decided that Jim was obviously talking to Dr. McCoy. Dr. McCoy was most likely fulfilling his duties as Chief Medical Officer and informing the Captain as to the status of his First Officer. Just because Jim sounded relatively worried didn't necessarily indicate that Jim actually cared about Spock.

Spock pushed down on the illogical twist of pain that wrapped around the silvery thread and squeezed hard, before admonishing himself. Eavesdropping was an unethical, underhanded method of obtaining information that inevitably led to misunderstandings and arguments. Jim deserved at least a modicum of privacy in what was obviously a personal communication. Taking a respectful step back, standing at parade rest to hide the trembling in his hands, Spock waited. He certainly wasn't prepared for when the entrance to Jim's quarters abruptly slid open, and he certainly didn't feel his heart jump into his throat when Jim appeared in that same doorway.

Jim's hair was tousled, his eyes bright and burning, his uniform clinging so enticingly to the smooth skin that Spock knew intimately well, and Spock felt his face flush as he quickly dropped his eyes to Jim's feet. His hands were wrung so tight that Spock knew his knuckles would be glowing an eerie green hue, but Spock knew that he had to keep them there; he didn't trust himself to keep his hands to himself, not right then. He saw Jim's feet take a step closer, could feel the heat of Jim's body closing around him, and when Spock finally dared to lift his gaze to Jim's chest, he could feel the wispy puffs of air that brushed against the tip of his ear.

It was driving him insane. It was almost like Jim was choreographing the perfect Vulcan seduction, until Spock remembered the reason he was there in the first place and felt nauseous, the silvery strand screaming at the prospect of being so close to its recipient, yet never being so far away. This was crunch time. Spock thickly swallowed down the lump that was clawing at his throat, never once lifting his eyes.

"Captain."

"Spock," Jim replied, and Spock was convinced that if it wasn't for the years of control engrained in him he'd have drowned in the mellow, honeyed tones of his T'hy'la's voice near whispering his name. It was enough to remind Spock of everything that he could gain. Of everything he could and almost certainly would lose from coming here tonight. Tears suddenly sprung to Spock's eyes, a sudden coldness throbbing through him as his words wavered.

So sickeningly human.

"Captain, there is something I need to discuss privately with you."

It was a loaded statement, and the sudden ripple of tension that gripped Jim's abdominal muscles emphatically told Spock that Jim knew it too. Jim obviously didn't want him there. Jim was angry with him. Jim was preparing to rip Spock's world apart where he stood. Jim was-

"Of course, Spock. Come in."

Spock certainly wasn't expecting that. Jim didn't sound spiteful, sarcastic or vengeful; if anything, Jim almost sounded caring, like he had been waiting for Spock to come to him. Spock violently crushed the glimmer of hope that rose in his chest. This was all pretence. This was just Jim lulling him into a false sense of security before destroying him piece by painful piece. But Spock had never been able to resist any order from his Captain. From his T'hy'la. That certainly wasn't going to start now. Taking a deep breath, sincerely hoping that he looked more confident than he felt, he took a step inside Jim's quarters. There were certainly never going to be anymore fond memories created here after tonight, no moments of quiet joy or private smiles.

He couldn't run away now.

* * *

Jim waited until Spock had walked past him into his quarters before letting out a deep breath, his body slumping slightly as he lost the air of bravado and confidence that he'd grasped on to for Spock's sake.

It had been almost impossible to resist dropping down to his hands and knees and begging for forgiveness the second his door had slid open; to see such a proud, strong Vulcan reduced to a bundle of agonised fear and tension was almost more than Jim could stand. The Ambassador had told Jim very patiently that the calmer and less guilty Jim appeared to be, the easier it would be in the long term to get Spock to open up to him, but Selik had obviously never been on the receiving end of a near suicidal Vulcan's hatred.

Counting to five - a force of habit whenever he felt nervous – Jim pulled his shoulders back, hoping to radiate a certain degree of confidence and strength as he finally followed Spock in. It almost fled him completely when he saw the Vulcan; he was standing at near flawless parade rest in the centre of what constituted Jim's office space, his head bowed and a curtain of black hair obscuring his eyes, but he was shaking. He looked cold. He looked completely lost. If Jim didn't know any better, he would've said that Spock looked absolutely terrified, and it was that fleeting thought that made Jim's blood run cold.

He hadn't exaggerated to Selik when he'd mentioned how his First Officer now watched him with an equal mixture of fear, depression, anger and heart wrenching pain, but he now felt like his analysis of Spock to Spock's own alternate counterpart was grossly understated and simplified. He felt his own nerves and inadequacies start to turn his stomach; he knew what he needed to do, Selik had given him every answer he could hope for and more than enough insights into Spock's mind to guide him through every possible reaction his silent Officer could respond with, but he wasn't sure that that would even be enough.

Walking into the centre of his quarters, Jim cleared his throat softly, cursing himself even more when Spock started, his shoulders jolting and the muscles in his back tensing spasmodically in a rare lapse in his control. "Computer," he spoke softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the trembling Vulcan. "Engage privacy locks and deactivate all overrides bar Medical. DND unless under red alert until I say for it to be turned off. Deactivate all communication links bar emergency Medical bay, and raise the current ambient temperature and humidity to that of Commander Spock's personal quarters."

The computer gave a slight hum of ascent as it worked its way through the commands, and when a sudden wave of sweltering heat permeated the room, Jim gave a slight smile when he saw the tension visibly start to melt from Spock. Baby steps, that's what Selik had told him; gain complete trust over Spock, make him comfortable and reduce any and all boundaries. It wouldn't make Spock putty in his hands, but it would be enough to show Spock that Jim was at least taking the situation with a severe level of seriousness. After all, if what Selik had told him was even partially true, then serious didn't even begin to describe what was happening to Spock.

Jim had sat completely stoic as Selik had detailed exactly what was happening between him and Spock. He'd had to recall every single part of his Command training in order to keep the emotion off of his face as Selik told him about every possible ramification that could happen to Spock because of one night.

Madness. Self destruction. Death.

Jim failed to restrain the shudder that went down his spine as he stared wistfully at the still silent Vulcan stood in the centre of his quarters, remembering with startling clarity the words that Selik had spoken:

_"He has chosen you, as I myself chose your counterpart. I understand that you did not necessarily seek this path, but you should not let your false anger and pride lead you to make mistakes that you will regret for the rest of your life." _

_"But what if I can't make things right?" _

_"You are his bondmate. You can make more right than wrong if you decide that that is what you want to do. If you decide to hide behind cowardice, then you will never know. Spock's life is at risk; if you are like my Jim in any way, you will not be able to let any harm come to him." _

_"But I always end up hurting Spock!" _

_Selik had smiled bittersweetly at him, his aged face softened with concern and hidden knowledge. _

_"If you do not make things right, you will hurt yourself just as much, if not more."_

Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to relax, failing to release the tension in his shoulders as he slowly crossed the room to stand in front of Spock. The shadow in the back of his mind, the echo of Spock's thoughts and emotions running through his consciousness gradually became stronger until it almost seemed like he had physically become Spock. Spock's eyes were shut, but his body was so rigid that he was shaking, his face deathly pale. It took all of Jim's strength not to impulsively raise his hand to Spock's face and stroke away the tension he saw there, but he knew that that would be counterproductive at this point. Jim swallowed away the lump forming at the back of his throat.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about Spock?"

Jim's voice was quiet, gravelly, barely a glimmer of its usual confidence and tone, and Jim could see the way that Spock tensed at the question. The room became deadly silent, only the sound of their soft breaths breaking the atmosphere as Jim watched the muscles in Spock's throat spasm, almost like he was fighting to speak.

"I-I…"

Spock took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, Jim's heart feeling like it had frozen solid in his chest as he saw the war taking place beneath the tears that were forming in Spock's stare. Then to his horror, Spock fell onto his knees, his voice ragged as he tried to contain himself.

"I have come to ask for mercy Captain."

Jim could only stare as the Vulcan's gaze lowered back to the floor. Nothing that Selik had said mentioned the idea that Spock would fall to the floor and beg for mercy. Jim smiled bitterly; nothing Spock ever did, despite his logic, was ever predictable, even to himself.

"For what, Spock? You haven't done anything."

Jim held his breath as the echo in the back of his mind suddenly seemed to scream at him, the words bloody and sharp as Spock's feelings poured into him _UselessWorthlessWrongWrongRapeWrongWrongSickMonste rWrong…_

"But I have Captain," Spock's voice was less than a whisper now, and Jim could see the way his shoulders were trembling in an effort to suppress guilt and pain Jim could feel raising inside him. "I have done something unspeakable to you, something I cannot ask forgiveness from."

Jim struggled to hold back the wave of nausea that was beginning to roil in his stomach; he now remembered something Selik had mentioned, a worst case scenario for Spock's negative reaction towards him. He briefly remembered utterances of "rape," "unwilling" and "execution," and he knew with what now felt like sickening perfection what Spock was thinking. He wanted to make Spock stop, to save him torturing himself with his guilt, but he couldn't. He had to wait.

"On the evening of Stardate 12.04, I committed a grave crime against your person, a heinous act of invasion and violence against your mind. I-I established a link between both of our minds without your permission or your willing consent. I launched a Psychic attack that has caused you great agony and pain and I…"

Spock stopped, his breathing becoming near hysterical, and Jim could not stand it any longer. Dropping to his knees in front of the distressed Vulcan, Jim reached out, tightly clasping both of Spock's shoulders within his grip.

"Spock, _stop_!"

"I cannot hide the truth!"

Spock looked for all the world like a wounded animal caught in its death throes as he stared almost wildly at Jim, tears starting to freely fall down his flushed face. "I launched a Psychic Assault, comparable to rape in my culture, against you. I falsely cultivated a bond that could cause irreparable damage to you, and I viciously compromised a ranking Starfleet Captain to selfishly fulfil my own-"

Spock choked on a sob, his eyes blazing with self-hatred and exhaustion as he stared helplessly at Jim, and Jim felt like all of the warmth in his body was being leeched away by the empty void kneeling in front of him. To think, he had spent the last few weeks doing nothing more than tormenting the Vulcan over their encounter that night, playing him off against himself purely out of spite. Jim felt sick. Selik hadn't prepared him for this. Selik had warned him that Spock might show some emotion, that Spock might act out of character, and that he might experience some discomfort depending on whether or not Spock could adequately shield his side of the Bond from Jim during their discussion, but Selik hadn't told him that Jim about the all-consuming guilt and wretchedness that he'd feel.

Jim felt it was almost perversely poetic that he was finally getting a chance to see the side of Spock that Spock had been hiding from him, but it didn't help. Taking a deep breath and trying desperately to slow down the frantic beating of his heart, Jim slowly massaged his thumbs into the curve of Spock's collarbone, his fingers teasing softly under the edge of Spock's Science blues. Spock's ragged panting gradually started to calm, his wide dark eyes staring straight into Jim's, and Jim could see the conflict brewing; the desire to lean into that touch and savour whatever scarce moment of peace and affection Jim was willing to grant him out of sympathy, the urge to rip himself from Jim's grasp and disappear into the bowels of the ship where he hoped no-one would ever find him, and the mistrust that this was just more of Jim's mind games.

Jim said nothing, trying to project some sort of calm through his touch as he waited for Spock to, hopefully, begin to relax and allow Jim to explain himself. It seemed like an eternity, Spock's glassy stare never once straying from Jim's as the tension thrumming through his taut frame very slowly began to dissipate, and Jim finally built up the courage to let his palms rub up and down Spock's arms, gradually working their way down until they rested on the crook of Spock's elbows, not daring to go any lower until he had explained what he knew.

"Spock," Jim sighed sadly, drawing one of his hands up to gently raise Spock's chin when he ashamedly turned his head away, taking a deep breath as a ripple of fear ran through his First Officer.

"What happened between us… I made you meld us. I-I was willi-"

Panic seemed to fall over Spock's face as he ripped his cheek from Jim's grasp, whimpering roughly when Jim straightened his face again. "No! I forced you into our joining, I invaded your mind, and now some fear of my person means you do not wish to acknowledge my part in this despicable act."

"Spock," Jim growled out, trying to get through to the Vulcan. "I. Was. _Willing_. I knew what I was doing that night! I willingly participated in that meld! You didn't force me into anything!"

Spock's lips seemed to curl into a snarl at this point, his eyes black and his voice pained. "Do not attempt to make this seem better than it was! I took advantage of your anger an-"

"And I took advantage of _you_!"

Jim all but screamed back at Spock, his chest heaving and a film of tears starting to obscure his vision. Spock suddenly fell silent, his skin paper white as his hands began shaking on his knees, and he flinched back when Jim's palm came back up to cup his face. Jim felt a sharp stab of guilt flood through him when Spock recoiled at his touch, and his voice audibly dropped as he tried to calm his tone, the shadowy echo at the back of his mind throbbing with a whole gamut of unnameable feelings.

"I came to your quarters that night. I physically provoked you. I made you meld me. And sure, the Bond scared the hell out of me to begin with, I almost thought I was going crazy but…" Jim's voice dropped, nervous to admit to Spock what he had finally been made to see when he was talking to Selik. He didn't hate Spock. Okay, so he didn't love him either, but he certainly didn't hate him. He took a deep breath, leaning closer into Spock as his voice turned whispery with his admission.

"But, I can't ask you to risk your life because you think it will make my life better. And… And I don't want you to."

Spock was visibly shocked, and Jim cut in as Spock started to vocalise every protest that Jim could feel bubbling up through his mind. "You can argue, but I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I was the reason you gave up, or ended up torturing yourself over something I can't really blame you for."

"You obviously know nothing about this," Spock fiercely remarked, his eyes beginning to darken again with anger rather than self-disgust, although his body was betraying his words, leaning into Jim's hand like the touch starved child he used to once be. "You cannot possibly give me what it is that I need. It is foolish for you to think that prolonging this… this agony makes it any better."

"I'm trying to help you."

"False hope is no help. It is cruel," Spock shot back, although the inflection in his words was making it harder for Jim to believe that he was actually turning away from Jim now.

The devastating pleading in Spock's eyes was making it hard to breathe, the glistening of tears coming to the forefront once more as Spock's chest rose and fell haphazardly with the effort to keep himself calm.

"Cruel is you denying yourself the chance to realise I can help you. I may not be able to give you everything you need, but," Jim briefly paused, the hand resting on Spock's elbow trailing down Spock's forearm until the tip of his fingers were caressing the back of Spock's hand, "but, I can give you something. Just trust me when I say that I know what I'm getting myself in for with you."

Twisting his hand in Spock's, Jim twined their fingers together, giving a slight smile at the shiver that Spock was unable to hide, the maelstrom of emotions from the shadowy echo in the back of his mind beginning to recede for the first time in weeks as Spock let out a soft gasp of what seemed like relief. Jim tried to resist the urge to force Spock to make that noise again; Selik had informed him about hands and contact and different levels of comfort and propriety between Bondmates, and whilst Jim couldn't deny that Vulcan sexuality sounded like it could be an interesting path to explore, Selik had strongly insisted Jim not to push Spock too hard or too fast too soon.

After all, Jim silently reminded himself, Spock was still highly vulnerable, and Selik's warning about being able to make things worse depending on his actions made Jim force his body to stop trying to get ahead of itself. Spock still looked like that wounded animal, mentally weak and terrified of Jim's intentions despite the relaxing of his body, the haunted glint in Spock's eyes reflecting the deep uncertainty and mistrust that Spock held for Jim. Jim remorsefully tried to bury his own guilt and disappointment at the way Spock obviously didn't believe what Jim was saying, but he couldn't bring himself to force the Vulcan more than he needed to.

He was starting to build bridges. He huffed out a smile; Bones would be rather proud of him he thought.

Spock very slowly moved forward towards Jim, wavering slightly as nerves shone brightly on his face, before tentatively leaning his head against Jim's shoulder with a shuddering sigh. Spock was shaking, and Jim softly drew the Vulcan in closer, resting his free hand on the back of Spock's neck as he felt Spock almost collapse against him, his breaths stuttered and uneven as Jim felt the damp warmth of now silent tears soak into his Command shirt, the Vulcan succumbing to the mental and emotional exhaustion that Jim had wrung out of him.

Closing his eyes, Jim buried his cheek into the crook of Spock's neck, deeply inhaling the musky scent of his First Officer that made the shadowy void in the back of his mind clear, revealing a faintly shimmering glint of silver that gently glowed under Jim's attempted affection.

"It's okay, Spock. We'll work something out, I won't make you suffer anymore. I'm sorry."

It was a start.

Jim just hoped he'd be able to work that something out soon before all of his efforts crashed down around him.


End file.
